The Hunger Games: Rosemary Caprice
by Elphaba818
Summary: My name is Rosemary Caprice. I live in District 14. I was born linked to an invisible entity named Kai. When my name is drawn during the reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games and my worst enemy volunteers, I must trust not only Kai, but the tributes from District 12, Katniss and Peeta, in order to survive.
1. The Reaping

**Hello to all, and welcome to my newest story! This idea has been rolling around in my head for a while, and I finally decided to write it down. It's a loose idea of a girl connected to an entity like in the video game Beyond: Two Souls were in the Hunger Games. What would people in her district do? Root for her to win? Or shout for her death? Would Careers try to recruit her? Or would she want to make loyal friends? Only I know the answer to these questions, and if you want to know, too, read and review this chapter!**

**Know this, though. The girl I've made, Rosemary Caprice, is nothing like Jodi Holmes from the Beyond video game. She is much shyer, much more quiet. She is still only child, and although she cares about her entity friend, she is scared of the things he's capable of. She's also been bullied all of her life, and although she wants to make friends, doesn't quite know how to, as she's never really had friends before.**

**This is her story.**

**I do not own the Hunger Games or the Beyond: Two Souls video game. They belong exclusively to Suzanne Collins and Quantic Dream.**

* * *

**Chapter One:****The Reaping**

I am roused awake by a rather large hand shaking my shoulder. Fighting the urge to groan and turn over to avoid the hand shaking me, I slowly open my eyes. Leaning over me is my older, seventeen-year-old cousin. I frown when I see him. Why has he woken me up? Judging by the gray light filming in from our bedroom window through the ratty curtains, it can't be later than five in the morning. Although the two of us generally wake up early every morning to help set up Uncle Luke's shop, he usually let's him and me sleep in until six in the morning, six-thirty at the latest every once in a while.

Then I remember. Today's reaping day. My first reaping day.

"Good morning, Zane," I say to my cousin, trying ever so hard to sound as cheerful as I normally do every morning, but even so, I'm unable to keep my fear from what will happen later on today out of my voice.

"Good morning," he replies, smiling back, but it doesn't reach his eyes. We both know there's nothing particularly good about today.

"What's going on, Zane?" I ask, rubbing sleep out of my eyes as I sit up. "It's so early… is something wrong?"

Zane shakes his head, smiling for real this time.

"No, I woke you up because Dad and I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" I repeat. "Really?"

Zane nods.

"Yep. Hurry and get dressed. It's waiting for you downstairs in the shop."

He turns to leave our shared bedroom to give me privacy to change out of my flimsy nightgown, but then I realize something, and call out for him to stop.

"Wait, Zane! You haven't greeted Kai, yet!"

Following my words, the glass on our bedroom window rattles almost impatiently, and the rags that we use for drapes stir a bit. Forgetting about my fears for what will happen later on this afternoon for a moment, I let out a giggle. I love seeing how Kai acts when he's impatient.

Hearing my words, Zane turns back around and smiles playfully to me. Then he addresses not me, but our bedroom in general. As neither him nor me can actually see Kai, Zane has to talk to him like this, and Kai, so long as he is acknowledged–politely, too, I might add–is not offended.

"My apologies, Kai. A very good morning to you as well."

A soft breeze tousles Zane's matted brown hair. As both the window and our bedroom door are closed, we both know that it was Kai who did that, thanking Zane for bidding him good morning.

"Kai wishes you a good morning, too, Zane," I say to my cousin.

"Thank you, Kai," says Zane, addressing our bedroom again. Then he turns his attention back to me. "Anyways, hurry up. I've got a lot planned for us to do before we have to go to the reaping later on today."

I nod to him, and wait for him to leave before allowing myself to frown as I once again remember the reaping. For a few glorious moments, I had let myself forget about the reaping, but now that I remember, I can't stop my nerves from settling in once again.

Kai senses my nervousness, and flings my thin cotton blanket off my bed to distract me. Gathering up my courage to get up and face today, I swing my legs off my bed and stand up.

"Don't worry, Kai, I'm okay," I tell my empty bedroom. "Just feeling a little scared is all…"

Kai doesn't make anything in the bedroom move in reply, so I can only assume he's satisfied with my explanation and will leave me be for the time being.

Wasting no more time, I go over to the small dresser I share with Zane and open up the bottom drawer. The top two drawers are reserved for Zane, and the bottom two are mine. I pull out a pair of trousers and a long sleeved shirt before slipping on my old, beat up pair of brown loafers, and the jacket Aunt Anne gave me before she passed away. It's pretty cold right now, but that's not why I'm putting on these clothes. It's protection for my tender skin.

Uncle Luke is District 14's resident blacksmith. As our district specializes in manufacturing glass, we do somewhat okay in terms of money in our poor district. He mainly fixes the knives and other tools the factory workers need repaired for their jobs, but he knows a little bit of metallurgy, too. For money or a decent trade at the local marketplace in our district, in his spare time, Uncle Luke forges kitchen utensils and rather simplistic jewelry. It's been years since any of the fires in the forge downstairs have gotten out of control and someone got burned, but still, it's better to be safe and keep your skin covered than leave it exposed and take the risk of an accident occurring.

As soon as I'm dressed and have my hair pulled back in my favorite two low pigtails, I leave the bedroom and head downstairs. Uncle Luke is downstairs in the kitchen with Zane. They're both admiring the only photograph our family has of my late Aunt Anne. They both look up as I approach.

"Well, look who's up!" Uncle Luke exclaims, crossing the room to give me a hug. "How are you this morning, Rose?"

My name is Rosemary. Rosemary Caprice. Rose for short. It used to be Rosemary Loxar, I'm told, when I was first born. I'd been born out of wedlock, so I was therefore given my mother's last name. However, after she died giving birth to me and my father died before I was even born, Uncle Luke and Aunt Anne took me in and officially adopted me. As such, I was given my father's last name–Caprice–since Uncle Luke had been my father's older brother.

To this day, I'm eternally grateful for Uncle Luke's and my late Aunt Anne's compassion and generosity by taking me in. They had already had a five-year-old Zane to take care of when I'd been born, and even though they'd never let either of us starve thanks to Uncle Luke's forge, there have been plenty of times in my life where we've all gone to bed hungry because they hadn't had a good day of business and couldn't afford to buy even a loaf of bread. Even so, they took me in, and shared what they had instead of letting me grow up in District 14's community orphanage, and that's a debt I'll never be able to repay.

"Good morning, Uncle Luke," I greet, trying to hide my nerves about the reaping later on today. "I'm okay, I guess."

They know me better than I know myself, though, and can see righ through my meager fib, but can tell I'm not ready to talk about it, and for now ignore it.

"Good, good," says Uncle Luke, a little cheerier than he normally sounds. "And how's Kai this morning, Rose?"

Following his question, the small flames from the lighted candles in the room all flicker and dance, casting about light shadows across the walls.

"He says he's doing well, Uncle Luke," I tell him.

"Good to hear," says Uncle Luke, looking up and addressing our ceiling. Then he turns his head back down to look at me. "Anyway, did Zane here tell you what we got for you today?"

I nodded.

"He said there's a surprise waiting for me in the shop."

"And right he was," Uncle Luke exclaims, clapping one of his rather large, calloused hands on my much smaller shoulder. "Let's go and see it."

I nod, and together the three of us leave the kitchen and go through the door that leads to the shop.

The forge is very tiny. We have two anvils so we can tackle two projects at once, a single shelf to display whatever goods we make that we don't end up trading in the district market, and a single bare light bulb hangs from the ceiling. And atop one of the anvils, an iron hammer just my size rests beside a few bars of iron.

My mouth falls open, and my eyes go wide. I can't believe what I'm seeing.

"A hammer… a hammer of my very own?"

"That's right, Rose!" Zane exclaims. "Today's the day you graduate from simple blacksmith assistant to real apprentice!"

I squeal with delight and tackle Zane in a big hug before doing the same to Uncle Luke.

"Thank you! Thank you so much Zane, Uncle Luke! I've been waiting for this day all my life!"

"I know you have, sweetheart," says Uncle Luke, gently patting my head. "Now, why don't you try to forge something with your new hammer?"

I nod earnestly.

"Okay! Will you help me, Uncle Luke?"

I deliberately asked this question, because I knew he would chuckle heartily, shake his head, and instruct Zane to help me. And he did.

"No, sorry, honey, but I gotta start working on making new sets of cutlery for our inventory and trading. It may technically be a district holiday, but unless we all work hard before the reaping at four, we may not have dinner tonight. Zane, will you help Rose?"

"Sure, Dad," says Zane nonchalantly. "No problem."

As Zane pretends to rub sleep out of his eyes, I see him discreetly wink to me.

"Alright. Let's get the fires lit and get started."

Zane and I both nod, and go and collect our small tins of flint from behind the counter. We light my forge, and begin to work; keeping an eye on what Uncle Luke is doing as we do so. As soon as we're both sure he's engrossed in his work and not paying us any mind, we grin to one another.

It's our system for whenever we want to talk in private. We make sure to deliberately ask Uncle Luke if he'll do something with us. If he says yes, it means Zane and I will have to wait until later to talk, but if he says no, we make sure to make the most of whatever time we have and get everything we want to say out there. It's not right, I know, but it's the only way we can truly say what we want without him getting angry with us.

When I was little, Uncle Luke and Aunt Anne would get furious with Zane, what with how he would blurt things out about District 14, about how the government ruled our nation, Panem, from the far away city known simply as the Capitol. Especially if he said these things in front of me. But Zane didn't listen, and instead set up an ingenious system in which he could talk to me about this stuff, or if I wanted to talk to him about it. We both know this method is wrong, but we have no choice. We can only talk here, in the privacy of our own home. If we were to talk to each other like we do here at school, classmates or teachers might get scared and go to the Peacekeepers. If we make little more than casual small talk at the market, stall owners might get scared and go to the Peacekeepers. Only at home, and only when Uncle Luke is busy, can Zane and I discuss tricky matters. Like the reaping later on today, or food shortages, or even the Hunger Games. Zane believes that I need to know the truth about these topics, and I agree, on account for Kai.

If people in the Capitol were to ever discover that I'm linked to such a being as Kai, they may come and take me away. Lock me up in some kind of laboratory and research me, because Kai isn't simply my imaginary friend. He is real.

Ever since I was born, I've been linked to this ghost, an entity, to be exact. He follows me around, never leaving me, and invisible to the rest of the world. As I grew up, I eventually realized that it was the presence of a boy, only five or six years older than me, and I decided to give him the name Kai. He cannot speak, and his only way to communicate with me and the rest of the world is through moving objects. And other, scarier tricks.

The first time I realized that there was more to him than simply making objects fly around the house, I'd been seven. I'd been playing with some other kids at recess in the school playground. I had kicked the soccer ball we'd all been playing with past the other team's goalie and scored a point. One of the boys on the other team got mad, and punched me. Kai must not have liked it, because two seconds later, the boy went flying backwards, landing a few yards away with a sickening crack. The force of the blast backwards ended up breaking the boy's arm. To this day, it's whispered by everyone at school that I'm some kind of witch, and that I tried to kill that boy that day, even though that's not true.

The other talent Kai has I only recently discovered a couple months ago, right after I turned twelve. Aunt Anne had just passed away, and Uncle Luke, Zane, and I had all been mourning. That night after her funeral, we'd all been sitting at the kitchen table, crying, wishing that she was still here with us, when all of the sudden, I had felt Kai. He hadn't been making pots and pans fly or moving the chairs around or anything like that. It was more like he'd urged me to stand up and walk up to Zane and Uncle Luke, and take each of their hands into mine. Right when I did that, I seemed to know instinctively what to do. I allowed my eyes to roll back up into my head, and when I opened them again, it wasn't my big, dark brown eyes Zane and Uncle Luke saw, it was Aunt Anne's caring light blue one's. And then I spoke, only it wasn't me speaking. It was Aunt Anne.

"Luke, Zane, don't cry over me, and don't let Rose cry either. My suffering is finally over. I'm in a much better place. I love you all so much. Don't ever forget that. I'll always be with you."

The shock on Zane and Uncle Luke's faces after Aunt Anne left and I came back to myself was unmistakable. None of us had any idea that I was capable of communicating with the dead like that with Kai's help, and although we were all so glad to hear Aunt Anne's voice one last time, we were all terrified about what had just occurred. We never spoke about it again, but I have a feeling that if I were to do it again, Uncle Luke will get furious. It's one thing to accept that some strange, but kind spirit follows your only niece around, but it's a whole other thing to hear the voice of your dead wife coming out of her mouth on account of that spirit.

"So," says Zane, bringing me back to the present. "What did you want to talk about?"

I pause, pondering my answer.

"I'm just scared, I guess," I mutter, stopping my hammering on the kitchen knife I'm forging to talk. "This is going to be my first year, after all…"

At that, Zane frowns. Now that I've finally said it, we can't ignore it anymore. Today isn't simply a district holiday. We're not going to have a fun day letting me try out my new hammer. No, we'll both be in the square at four o'clock precisely this afternoon, waiting for the names to be called out, and hoping that they won't be ours.

"It's your first year, Rose," said Zane, taking my half-finished knife and adding a bit more tapping around the blade. "They're not going to pick you."

"And what if they pick you, Zane?" I ask. "I wouldn't be able to take it if you get reaped!"

Against my will, fearful tears began to flow down my face. I try to stop, but my tears keep coming. I don't like this. I had wanted to show Zane and Uncle Luke that I could be strong about today, but instead, I'm crying uncontrollably.

"Hey, now, Rosie, don't cry," says Zane, ignoring my knife for a moment to give me a hug. "It's all going to be okay. You'll see. They're not going to draw either of our names."

"Okay," I whimper, drying my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt.

"I am going to have to swing by the market when we're done crafting," Zane goes on, "to get you something nice to wear for the reaping, and to get something good for dinner tonight. Do you want to come with? I'll let you pick out something you want. Some cookies or a slice of cake or something like that."

Usually the night after the reaping, families across the district will celebrate. They'll cook large dinners that they normally can't afford and make merry. Why? Out of relief. Out of relief that their children will not be going to face death in the Hunger Games. That they will be spared for at least another year. But two families will not partake in all the festivities. Two families, filled grief, will lock their doors, pull back the drapes, and spend the entire evening wallowing in their tears as they try to figure out how they are going to get through the upcoming, painful weeks to come.

Zane, Uncle Luke, and I have a pretty good morning. Four workers from the glass production factory stop by and pay us good money to have their tools fixed by tomorrow morning. We also managed to craft a few decent sets of kitchen utensils, a couple sharp knives, and a rather good quality axe. While the axe is worthless to Zane, Uncle Luke, and me, we know that the select few who are brave enough to go beyond the district fence will either pay or trade well for it.

Like every district in Panem, District 14 is completely enclosed by an electrified, high chain-link fence topped with thickly looped barbed wire. It is supposed to be electrified all the time to keep the predators who live beyond the fence out, but due to the district being so poor, our mayor, Mayor Freeman, can only afford to have it on for a couple hours each day, so it's usually safe to touch.

Even though going beyond the fence is highly illegal and hunting is one of the most serious offenses, many people in the poorer parts of the district do it regardless. They are so hungry, they are willing to venture outside the safety of the fence, armed with nothing more than the knives that we make here at the shop. It is also technically against the law to be supplying weapons to people. It could mean inciting a rebellion, but in our defense, we merely make things that can be used for practical purposes. A couple extra knives? We made more than we sold in the shop and thought we could trade them for a bit of extra meat at the butcher's. A rather durable hammer? A customer who works up at the production factory broke his and paid handsomely to have it repaired. A rather sharp axe like the one we just made? We thought someone might pay well for a better axe to chop wood with. Almost all the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to those who get hunting weapons from us. They crave fresh meat as much as anyone else in District 14, and so long as we don't make more obvious weapons like swords or spears or bows and arrows, they don't have the three of us tried for treason for supplying the people of our district with weapons to start a rebellion, even though that's not true.

It's one o'clock by the time Zane and I head off toward the market. Even though it should be closed today for the reaping, many stalls in the market are open for business. People need to eat, and stall owners need to either make money or get decent trades to get their own food, so the Peacekeepers let this slide.

"Let's head over to the butcher's stall," Zane says as we begin to weave through the aisles of stalls. "He might give us some pork for one or two of the knives you crafted."

I nod, and hurry with him toward the stall. I want to do this quick and get back home. I can feel everyone in the market staring at me. Everyone in District 14 knows there's something different about me, and when I say different, I'm referring to Kai. Everyone knows what happened to that boy five years ago on the school playground. They know something unnatural happened that day, and they're wary of me. I try to avoid lookin at anyone directly, but it's hard.

Zane was right. The owner of the butcher's stall, a man in his late forties by the name of Han, trades us a few pounds of pork for two of my sharpest knives. We trade the last one and a set of utensils with someone who goes outside the fence to forage for edible mushrooms and herbs.

As we start looking around for a hunter who might pay well for the axe, a familiar friendly voice calls out to us.

"Zane! Rose! Over here!"

We both turn. Pushing her way through the marketplace crowd to reach us is Saria Collins, the tailor's daughter, Zane's betrothed, and one of the small handful of people in the entire district that doesn't either cringe away at the sight of me, or glare spitefully in my direction.

Zane and I smile when we see her, and make our way to where she is. Just as I've always found Zane to be like my older brother, I've always thought of Saria as an older sister. She and Zane fell in love back when they were both fourteen, and just last year, both her parents and Uncle Luke and Aunt Anne–she'd been sick by then, but still alive–had given consent for them to get betrothed. Betrothals are quite common in our district. Some families do it so their children can marry into families that will give them a better life, but there are some, like Zane and Saria, who get betrothed because they honestly are in love. Most people wait until they're twenty to get married to their promised one's, but secretly, I don't think Zane and Saria will be able to wait that long. I'm pretty sure that next year, right after their last reaping, they may honestly run from the square to the small church in our district and elope then and there.

Today, instead of her school uniform, Saria's wearing a pretty yellow dress her mother must have made especially for her today, and her mouse brown hair is pulled back in a matching yellow ribbon. She's already changed for the reaping.

Zane kisses her sweetly in greeting, but as soon as he pulls back, I can see a sad look in his eyes.

"How are you doing?" Zane asks her.

"Well as can be expected for today," she says. "I've been looking for you and Rose all over. How are both of you doing?"

"Good enough, I guess," says Zane.

"Scared, really scared," I tell her. "I like your dress, Saria. Is… is that what you're going to wear for… for the reaping?"

For a moment, I was afraid I sounded rude, but Saria doesn't appear to be the slightest bit offended. Instead, she smiled sweetly before answering.

"Well, we all want to look nice if we're picked to go the Capitol, don't we?" she asks me.

"None of us will be going to the Capitol," says Zane firmly, although I'm pretty sure he said this more to me than to Saria. "Saria, your name is going to be in there only six times. The same number as me. The minimum number. And it's your first year, Rose. You only have one entry. None of us has ever signed up for tesserae, and, as the people in the Capitol say" –he puts on a high-pitched Capitol accent– "Happy Hunger Games, because the odds are entirely in our favor!"

Saria and I both laugh.

"You're right, Zane," I say, taking his hand in mine. And he was right. We were all the kids of successful business owners in District 14. We're not the wealthiest in the district, but we get by well enough that we don't need to take out tesserae to feed not only ourselves, but our families, too.

The way the reaping works is like this: the day you turn twelve, your name is added to the bowl. As it is only your first year, your name is in there only once. The next year, at the age of thirteen, your name will be in the bowl twice, and when you become fourteen, three times, and so on and so on until the last year you're eligible at the age of eighteen, and by then, your name will be in the pool seven times. That's the way it goes for every person that lives in the various districts of the country Panem.

But there's a catch. Imagine you are poor and starving and desperate for more food. If that's the case, you have the option to add our name in more times in exchange for tesserae. A single tesserae is equal to a meager year's worth supply of grain and oil for one person. And that's not all. You can do this for your family members as well. So say for example when you're twelve, you take out tesserae for yourself, and both your parents. At that years reaping, your name will be entered four times. Once, because it's mandatory, and the other three being for you, your mom, and then your dad. As the entries are cumulative, if you do this again when you turn thirteen, your name will be in the bowl eight times. Do the math. If you do this every year, by the time you're eighteen, your name will be entered twenty-eight times.

Zane, Saria, and I are all lucky. We were born into families that can provide and care for us. While there's still a chance one of us can be picked, the odds are much more in our favor than those in our district that have their names in the pool twenty times or more. It's wrong to think that way, but we can't help it. None of us want to be reaped.

"I have something for you today, Rose," said Saria. "That's why I've been looking for you and Zane."

"Something for me?" I repeat. "What?"

She smiles kindly. "Your first reaping dress."

Zane and I are speechless. We were never expecting her to make me a dress.

"You… you made me a dress?" I ask softly.

"Of course I did, silly," says Saria. "It's the least I can do for someone who is _practically_ family."

She smiled coyly to Zane when she emphasized 'practically,' and I swear I saw his cheeks flush.

"Thanks, Saria," he says, his cheeks still red. "We both really appreciate this."

"It's no trouble at all," Saria exclaims. "It's still at my parents shop. Would you both like to come and get it now?"

"Sure, just as soon as we finish trading our wares," I exclaim brightly. Then I turn to Zane. "What do we still have left, Zane?"

"The axe for money or fresh vegetables with a hunter, and since we won't be needing those last two sets of utensils for getting you a reaping dress after all now, I guess we can see if anyone will be willing to trade one set for a gallon of milk or something, and the other set for some of those cookies I promised you earlier back at the store."

"I can go and get the milk, Zane," I say. "You and Saria can go to the bakery stall for those cookies and look for a hunter to trade or sell the axe with."

"You sure?" he asks. "I don't mind going with you."

"Neither would I, Rose," Saria adds. "I wouldn't mind at all."

I shake my head. I want them to have some time alone before the reaping.

"No, I'll be fine, really! I'll be back in a minute!"

And with that, I take one of the small bundles containing the kitchen ware from Zane's hands, and head off alone in the opposite direction down the marketplace aisle.

As I walk through the aisles, looking for a stall selling dairy products, I suddenly hear quiet snickering coming from somewhere behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I know exactly who is behind me, but I don't stop and look back. I just walk a little faster than before. I can't do this with them. Not today. Not with the reaping in just a few short hours. But fate is against me, and a large, burly hand roughly grabs my shoulder and forcefully spins me around.

It is Thorn Larkin. The biggest and meanest of all the bullies at school. Behind him are Markyl Rey and Flo Stewart, his lackeys.

Thorn is only a year older than me, thirteen, and yet he's so big and burly, many people think he's fifteen. He has shaggy, jet black hair, and coal black eyes. He's thickset, and even at a distance anyone can tell he is extremely mean. And he is. He's the meanest person I know.

Ever since the incident when I was seven with Kai breaking that boys' arm, he took it upon himself to start the horrible trend of stalking and taunting the weird little girl who claimed her ghost friend had hurt that boy, not her, in other words, me. Others joined in, and I'd often find myself returning home from school with fresh bruises from being punched repeatedly, and tears flowing down my face from the horrible, cruel names they all called me: freak, weirdo, crazy, witch… The list went on and on.

Even though Thorn and his friends have done more than enough to me over the years to inspire my wrath, I have never allowed Kai to so much as defend me from any of their onslaughts. What happened all those years ago to that boy who had punched me had been an accident, a horrible accident that I never want to repeat. I don't want to ever hurt anyone like that again, so I told Kai a long time ago to not protect me from them. I could tell he was mad, as many things around our house broke unexpectedly that night, but still, he obeyed my wishes. He lets me handle them in my own way, which, in reality, means me trying to persuade them to leave me be that day, and if that doesn't work, running away as fast as I can.

"Thorn, Markyl, Flo," I say politely. "Good morning."

Thorn scoffs, seemingly amused. "There's nothing remotely good about today, witch. Right, Markyl?"

Markyl shrugs. Out of the three of them, he's the only one who doesn't seem to ever enjoy bullying me. I really don't know why he joins Thorn and Flo with their bullying me, but whether he enjoys it or not, he's just as responsible as them, because he does it anyway.

"Yeah, that's right," Markyl mumbles, jamming his hands in his pockets and looking down at his feet. "At least not for those of us who don't actually like hurting people…"

I find that ironic. They say they don't like hurting people? They hurt me. Every day. With their words and fists.

"Then again, you like to hurt things, don't you, witch?" says Flo, her simpering smile creeping me out. "I bet you're excited it's your first year!"

I've heard enough. I turn back around and continue on my way. In less than three steps, Thorn has caught up to me, and he keeps his overly large hands planted firmly on my shoulder, preventing me trying to run away again.

"Just where are you going?" he demands.

"I have some errands to run before the reaping," I say, my voice cracking slightly. I try to move again, but Thorn's hand remains rooted on my shoulder. So I do the only thing I can do. I whipped my hand back fast and hard. Thorn yelps as my head bruises his chest, and unconsciously lets me go. I take my opportunity and run. Fast.

If there's one thing I'm grateful for when it comes to Thorn, Markyl, and Flo, it's that their chasing me has taught me how to run. Run and not get caught. When I was younger and tried to run away from them, they'd always find a way to catch up with me. It was then that I realized that if I didn't want to get caught, I needed to learn how to be faster than all of them. So I joined the school's track team, and I trained harder than anyone else. My hard work over the years paid off. I am now the fastest runner in my entire grade at school, and the last time Thorn and his gang caught me was last year when I twisted my ankle.

I lose them easily in the crowd, but just to be safe, I keep running until I reach the milk and diary stand. The owner eyes me nervously as I offer him the set of knives and forks, and I fight the urge to sigh. I know people are wary of me, but I don't think they realize just how much they hurt my feelings when they act like this toward me.

The owner takes my cutlery set in exchange for the milk and is more than relieved when I set off again on my way. I start to head back to Zane and Saria, but I stop after only a few steps. Thorn, Markyl, and Flo are all probably mad and waiting to jump me again. I turn around and view the end of the aisle. I could go down the next aisle to the very end and then backtrack down this aisle to find Zane and Saria. It'll take longer, and involve passing by one particular stall I generally try to avoid, but anything's better than being cornered by Thorn and his gang again. So with a brave nod knowing who I'm about to pass by, I turn the corner and continue on my way down the next aisle.

I arrive all too soon at the bad stall. The shoemaker's stall. I know I ought to keep going. To keep going and not stop and look, but I can't help myself. I glance over at the stall.

There are barely any customers, so I get a clear shot of the owners. The married couple doesn't notice me watching them at first. They're busy helping their few customers. But then the woman so happens to glance over one of her client's shoulders, and notices me watching. She goes white. Very white. It's clear she wasn't expecting to see me today. The day of the reaping. Very slowly, her big, stunned eyes never once leaving my form, she reaches out next to her, getting her husbands' attention. He turns, confused, but then he sees where she's looking: at me. At once, his kind face turns into a hateful glare. I can't bear how they're looking at me, so I simply nod with a painful smile, and keep walking.

Tears gather, but I fight them back. What exactly was I expecting them to do when they saw me? For them to come running to me? Start hugging me? Telling me how sorry they are for treating me the way they have over the past twelve years and to comfort me about the reaping? I should have known better. If it isn't hatred the two of them hold for me, then it's most definitely blame, because they are Elle and Jellal Loxar. My grandparents.

My mother was their daughter, and she died giving birth to me. In the entirety of the twelve years I've been alive, I've never once spoken to either of them, but I've always watched them from a distance. Why? I'm not quite sure. Mere interest? Childish confusion? Guilty conscious? Maybe it's a combination of all three, or it may not be for any of those reasons. The only thing I know for sure about what I fell concerning the Loxar's is hope that maybe one day they'll talk to me.

I find Zane and Saria less than ten minutes later, both of them looking around in the crowd for me. Zane himself is holding a small paper bag from the bakery stall, which I only assume has some cookies thrown in, and since there's no vegetables to be in either his or Saria's arms, I guess they sold the axe for a good price. I try to greet them cheerfully, but Zane could tell something was wrong.

"What's wrong, Rose?" he asks as the three of us head out of the market. "You seem much quieter now than you were before."

"I ran into Thorn, Markyl, and Flo on my way to the dairy stand," I explain. "I didn't want to run into them again on the way back so… I took the way back and went past the Loxar's stall."

Zane and Saria both go silent for a moment.

"I should have gone with you," he finally says.

"Or me," Saria adds.

"It's okay," I tell them. "Nothing happened. They both just stared at me, is all."

Zane looks like he wants to say more, but he never gets the chance. We have reached Saria's parents tailor shop.

"Wait here," she says to Zane and me. "I'll get the dress."

And with that, she disappears into her parent's store. She comes back out a moment later, carrying a small bundle wrapped up in brown paper. She hands it to me, and then hugs me dearly.

"It'll be okay," she whispers. I nod, doing my best not to tremble. Then she turns and kisses Zane tenderly on the lips.

"See you both in the square," she says.

"See you there," he replies.

And with that, Zane and I go home. Uncle Luke has already closed for the day, but Zane has a key, and we let ourselves in. Uncle Luke is in the kitchen, ready to go in a clean gray shirt and black slacks. He nods to both of us as we set our groceries down on the table.

"We're home," I say simply.

"There's hot water in the tub upstairs," he tells us. "Which one of you wants to go first?"

"Zane can," I say, hugging the bundle of the dress Saria gave me tightly. Then I head upstairs, Zane right behind me.

He bathed quickly, and even boiled more hot water for my bath before coming to get me. I take my time in the tub, soaking in the warm water for a while before washing my hair and scrubbing soot out from under my fingernails. Bathing in hot water is a luxury in District 14, no matter what your class status is, so I let myself enjoy it before climbing back out again.

The dress Saria has made me is pure white. It reaches my knees, and when I look at my reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, I see that it makes my already dark brown bordering black hair seem even darker, and my brown eyes seem bigger, too. I actually look really pretty. I redo my pigtails with the white ribbons Saria included in the package, and then go back downstairs.

Zane is sitting with Uncle Luke at the table. Like me, he is dressed to go to the reaping. He's wearing a freshly ironed white button down shirt, and khaki colored pants. Just like when I first got up this morning, they both look up when I come down the last few steps.

I smile to them as I sit down at the table. We've still got a couple minutes before we have to leave for the reaping. We might as well make them count.

I'm suddenly aware of something having been said, and I turn my head to Uncle Luke.

"What?" I say.

"I said, you look lovely," he repeats.

"Oh," I say. "Yeah. I guess I do."

Silence follows my remark. Then Zane, very suddenly, gets up and hugs me. And then Uncle Luke does the same. These next few hours are going to be terrifying. This will be Zane's sixth reaping, but it's my first. We're as safe as we can be. Zane's name is in there only six times, and mine's in there only once. I shouldn't be scared. Neither of us is in any real danger, but I can't help myself.

"Let's be off, then," says Uncle Luke.

Zane and I both nod, and we follow him out the door, and head toward the square. Attendance is mandatory for every citizen in every district in Panem, the only exception being on a deathbed. Even now, there are Peacekeepers going from door-to-door to check if there's anyone that fits this case. If someone lies, they'll undoubtedly be imprisoned.

Out of all the places in District 14 they can hold the reaping, I really hate that it's in the square. They turn it from the pleasant marketplace that it was only two hours ago into the televised spectacle that will determine the untimely deaths of one boy and one girl to the entire country. Even now, as men with cameras from the Capitol set up equipment, I feel myself scowl at them.

Zane and I say goodbye to Uncle Luke and go sign in. The Peacekeepers prick our fingers and stamp the blood onto their paperwork before allowing both of us to file into line with the other kids. We're all being herded like cattle into roped off areas marked off by both gender and age. Older kids like Zane with a greater chance at being chosen are in the front, and younger kids like me with a smaller chance are in the back. Family members line up around the perimeter, watching anxiously, and I know that somewhere in that crowd is Uncle Luke. Maybe even the Loxar's. Those who arrive late fill in around the remaining streets where they can watch the reaping on the large, jumbo screens as it's televised. The square may be large, but it's not large enough to support the entire District 14 population of nearly nine thousand.

Zane squeezes my shoulder reassuringly as he drops me off with the other girl twelve-year-old girls.

"It'll be okay," he whispers, and then, with a grunt to keep moving by one of the Peacekeepers, he's gone.

I join the crowd of other twelve-year-old girls. They all grow very frightened and try to move away from me, but we're all jam-packed together so tightly, they really have nowhere to go. I know I really ought to feel offended that they can't bear to stand next to me, but really I'm just sad. I've never so much as glared at any of them, and yet they're all still afraid. Standing next to me and peeking sparingly at me every few minutes is Tina Fray. She's on the track team with me at school. The girl in front of me is Kyra Dane. The butcher's daughter. I saw her only a few hours ago when Zane and I went to trade for pork. Upon seeing me get in line, she has refused to look back at me even once. The only sense of relief I can cling onto is that Thorn, Markyl, and Flo aren't here. Thorn and Markyl are not only thirteen and in the older section, but boys, too, and Flo is also thirteen, and in the next section up. I'm very fortunate in that retrospect.

I stop focusing on the other girl's around me and instead look up at the makeshift stage that has been set up in front of the Justice Building. It holds five chairs, a podium, and two rather large glass balls, one for the boys and one for the girls. Inside the girls' ball, one paper slip reads my name, Rosemary Caprice, in careful, elegant handwriting. Two slips read Flo Stewart, and another six say Saria Collins. As much as I hope that the one slip reading my name isn't drawn, I can't bring myself to think of a name I hope is drawn instead. I don't wish the horror of the Hunger Games on anyone, but I also don't want it to me.

The five chairs on stage then fill up. Our mayor, Mayor Freeman, sits down first, followed quickly by the Capitolite escort who has come to read off the names: Effie Trinket. It's almost scary how strange she looks, what with her white grin, pinkish hair, and spring green suit, but then again, people in the Capitol have always had a weird taste in fashion.

The next two chairs that fill up are people I don't recognize. A boy and a girl. Both of them around Zane and Saria's age, I think. The girl has long, dark brown hair like me, but pinned back in an elegant braid around her head, and the boy has wavy, ashy blonde hair, but slicked back at the moment. They are the tributes from District 12, and the man next to them is their–and now the tributes from our district, District 14–mentor.

He is Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who right now seems to be hollering something unintelligible to Mayor Freeman and Effie Trinket. He's drunk. Very drunk. Judging by the looks on Mayor Freeman and Effie Trinket's faces, they would prefer if he weren't on stage. But he has to be. It's part of the deal our district made with the Capitol almost fifteen years ago.

In the past seventy-four years that the Hunger Games have existed, District 14 has never had a victor. No victors mean no mentors, people who not only coach tributes on how to survive the games, but help get us sponsors, too. So around fifteen years ago, our mayor, though no one really knows how, got in contact with people in the Capitol. He managed to strike a deal with them. In exchange for tributes from our district to be mentored by the victors from other districts until we get a victor, we do everything with that district's tributes until the games begin. This year, the kids from our district will be going with the tributes and their mentor from District 12. Whoever they are, I truly pity them, because I don't think Haymitch Abernathy is the best person tributes want to have as a mentor.

The town clock strikes four, and Mayor Freeman stands up. He walks up to the podium, and begins his speech. It's the same speech I've heard every year since I was old enough to understand. He tells us all about the history of Panem, the nation that rose up from the ashes of a continent that at one point had been known as North America. He tells us all about the disasters that happened: the storms, the droughts, the fires, the rising oceans that consumed almost all the land, and of the brutal war over whatever land was still left. In the end, Panem was born; a nation ruled by leaders in the Capitol and surrounded by its fourteen districts. For a long time, there was peace and prosperity. And then came the Dark Days. That was the time when the districts rebelled against the Capitol. The first twelve and the fourteenth were defeated, but the thirteenth was completely destroyed. Thus, the Treaty of Treason was written. With it came new laws to guarantee a new era of peace, and as a yearly reminder that there must never be another age of Dark Days, the Hunger Games were created.

It's pretty straightforward, the rules of the Hunger Games. As punishment for the uprising, every district must offer up in tribute one girl and one boy to participate. The twenty-six tributes will then be taken to a vast, outdoor arena. What each one is varies every year. One year it was an abandoned city, and the before that was a scorching, dry desert. Over the following weeks that they're imprisoned in the arena, the tributes will fight each other to the death until a lone victor remains.

Adding onto the humiliation and torture that comes from the Hunger Games, the Capitol all but forces us all to treat the event as though it were sport, pitting every district against the others. The winning tribute will receive a nice, easy life upon returning home, and their district shall in return be showered in gifts and prizes, largely consisting of more food. Throughout the entire year, the Capitol will provide the winning district with fresh, delicious food, and even rarities like sugar, while the losing twelve districts slowly die of starvation.

"It is a time of repentance and a time for thanks," recites Mayor Freeman.

He then goes on to formally introduce Haymitch Abernathy and the District 12 tributes, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. They both nod politely to the rest of us, but it's clear from the expressions on their faces that they wish they weren't here. He then introduces their Capitolite escort, Effie Trinket.

Bright, bubbly, and seemingly cheerful amidst an entire district that's incredibly mournful, Effie Trinket teeters up to the podium to take his place and says, quite happily, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Her pink hair shifts off center as she says this, and I realize that it's a wig. She tells us all in her upbeat, pleasant voice how she is honored to be here, personally selecting the tributes from our district. I feel ill just listening to her. The time for her to pick the names is drawing nearer and nearer.

As though my thoughts are the magic touch, Effie Trinket finishes up with her pleasantries and gets down to business.

"Now," she begins, "the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman, for the honor of representing District 14 in the Seventy-Fourth annual Hunger Games! As usual," she continues, her pearly white teeth flashing a dazzling smile, "ladies first!"

She all but trots up to the glass ball containing the thousands of slips of girl names. Her hand hesitates above all the slips of paper for a moment, but then she promptly selects one right off the top. All of District 14 draws a silent breath. It's so quiet, one can hear a pin drop. I, too, am holding my breath, praying that the name on that slip is not someone I know. Not Saria. Not Flo. Not Tina. Not Kyra. Just let it be someone I don't know.

Effie Trinket prances right back up to the podium, unfolds the slip of paper, and reads out the name. And it is not just someone I know.

It is me.


	2. The Train

**I'm surprised how I fast I managed to carve out chapter two. It usually takes a little over a week for me to finish writing a chapter, and depending on my weekly schedule, another week after that to finish typing it up on my laptop. So I do hope you all enjoy this!  
**

**I'd also like to thank BamItsTyler for being the first person to follow this story! Thanks a lot!**

**Please, read and review!**

**Note: I do not own the Hunger Games or Beyond: Two Souls. They belong exclusively to Suzanne Collins and Quantic Dream.**

**UPDATE: Due to a small, unrealistic detail that my first reviewer, accio-feels, has kindly pointed out to me, I've gone back and changed a few paragraphs in the beginning of this chapter. Hopefully now, readers, you will think that this change is okay!**

* * *

**Chapter Two:****The Train**

"Rosemary Caprice!" reads Effie Trinket in her upbeat, bubbly voice.

I am stunned. Completely stunned. I cannot move. All I can think is, 'That is me…'

In the back of my mind, I can feel Kai. He's not shoving people aside or destroying any of the television screens. He is silent, just as shocked and stunned as I am.

All throughout today, I've been scared. Scared that it would be me. All day long whenever I told people I was scared, be it Zane, Saria, or Uncle Luke, they told me I had no reason to be afraid. That my name was only one slip amongst other girls who had their name's entered nearly twenty or more times. "The odds are entirely in your favor, Rose," they had said. But it hadn't mattered. My name was chosen anyway.

Through my distorted ears, I can hear an unhappy murmuring coming from the crowd. I may be the resident witch of District 14, but I'm still a twelve, and no one thinks it's fair when a twelve-year-old gets chosen.

"Rosemary Caprice?" repeats Effie Trinket. "Where are you, dearie?"

Gathering my courage, I take a deep breath, and stumble out from the roped-off area of the twelve-year-old girl's.

The eyes of the entire country watch as I walk, stiffly and slowly, up to the stage. As I do, I catch a glimpse of myself up on the television screens. I'm a bit pale, and my lips are pressed together rather tightly, but aside from that, I don't appear to be all that afraid, which is a complete opposite to the whirlwind of emotions I'm feeling on the inside.

It seems to take an eternity, but I eventually make it up to the stage. With shaky legs, I climb up the steps, and move to stand beside Effie Trinket. I'm terrified. Beyond terrified. I'm going into the Hunger Gamers. The thought replays over and over again in my mind as I feel Kai's invisible hands massage my shoulders in an effort to calm me down. It works, and I get a hold of myself quick enough to catch Effie Trinket's next words.

"Lovely!" she proclaims, pinching my cheek. I fight the urge to push her away. That wouldn't sit well with people watching in the Capitol. "Such a lovely young girl! Now!" she adds, addressing the rest of the crowd. "Are there any volunteers?"

There is not a peep from a single girl in the crowd. I knew there wouldn't be. Not just because I'm the district witch, but because no one ever volunteers. The last person to volunteer happened before I was even born, and no one is going to start volunteering just because I happened to get reaped.

It works like this. After a tribute's name is selected from the ball, another eligible girl, if a girl's name has been read, or another eligible boy, if a boy's name has been read, can come up and take the place of the boy or girl. In some of the more wealthier districts, where winning the reaping is as high an honor as any possible, kids are eager to volunteer and risk their lives, and swarm up to the stage. In those districts, the process for volunteering is rather complicated. But in the poorer districts, like District 14, being a tribute means all too soon being a corpse. So volunteers are all but extinct.

Effie Trinket purses her lips with displeasure. It's clear from the expression on her face that she wishes she could be escorting tributes from one of the more exciting districts.

"No volunteers? Very well, then," she declares. "Then, let's all give a big, big, big, round of applause for District 14's female tribute, Rosemary Caprice!" She herself claps a few times for good measure.

True to the credit of what I've believed people in District 14 think about me behind my back, not one person claps. They all just stare, transfixed, at my tiny body beside Miss Effie Trinket. I can't help but feel somewhat disappointed. They all hate and despise my entire existence so much, they can't even grant me a kind parting of some kind, at the very least? I want to cry, but I hold back my tears. This is all still being televised. If I cry, not only will all of Panem see, but so will my fellow tributes when the reaping's are all replayed on television later on tonight. I'm already going to be considered a weakling due to my age. I will not add on to that label.

This isn't good enough for my family, though. They will not let me leave this platform without some form of closure, and they do something very, very bad. It had started first with Zane, and then Uncle Luke, and then Saria bring the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and hold it out to me. It's a very old, rarely used even, but still quite famous salute in the outer districts of Panem, used most often at funerals. It generally means thank-you, or admiration. It means goodbye to someone you truly love.

I can only stare. That's all I can do. Amongst an entire district of people who will not clap for me, they are giving me the most heartfelt goodbye that they can. They are telling the entire country that even though the rest of District 14 may not care about me, they do. They don't agree with this. They don't want me, Rosemary Caprice, to die.

"My, my," Effie Trinket trills, bringing my attention back to her. "This truly _is_ an exciting day!"

I have no idea what she means. Did something of this caliber happen at District 12's reaping? I very carefully glance over my shoulder at Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen.

The boy–Peeta Mellark–seems to be having mixed reactions about me being reaped. His expression keeps changing every few moments. The cycle would begin with him looking at me with his blue eyes staring at me in shock, and then slowly turning sad after watching me for a few moments. After these two emotions played out, he'd turn to his district partner–Katniss Everdeen–and gaze at her for a short time before repeating the process. Unlike Peeta, Katniss can't seem to look at anything except me. She just stares, almost horrified, at my form up here on stage. There's no sympathy in her gray eyes like there is in Peeta's. Just shocked horror. I quickly look back to Effie Trinket. I can't bear the way the girl from District 12 is looking at me.

"And now," continues Effie Trinket, "for the boys!"

She teeters up to the bowl filled with the boys' names, but before she could reach in, a voice from the back of the crowd suddenly shouts, "I volunteer!"

The entire district turns around as a boy I know all too well comes dashing out from the thirteen-year-old boys' section. I can literally feel my face drain of color when I see who it is. Thorn Larkin.

The odds are entirely not in my favor.

There is one reason, and only one reason, Thorn Larkin would volunteer.

Because of me.

He hates me so much, he wants to personally be the one to kill me.

Sure enough, as he comes up on stage, he shoots me an ever so quick smirk. It's so quick, unless someone watching is looking to see if Thorn smirks at me at all, they would miss it. But I was expecting to see it, and it sticks out on his face like a sore thumb. Effie Trinket asks his name, and he tells her, confidently.

Before Effie Trinket can begin rambling on how exciting this is, having a volunteer before she could even draw out a name, Mayor Freeman steps back up to the podium and begins to read the long, dull Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point–it's mandatory for ending the reaping. I usually tune out at this point, but this year I listen intently. I need to. This will undoubtedly be the last time I'll ever hear it.

Mayor Freeman finishes the dull Treaty of Treason after ten or so minutes, and Effie Trinket once again reclaims the spotlight.

"Our tributes from District 14!" she proclaims. "Rosemary Caprice and Thorn Larkin! Well, go on, you two," she tells the two of us pointedly. "Shake hands!"

Swallowing thickly, I turn slowly to Thorn, and offer him my hand. Thorn doesn't hesitate to grab it–tightly, too, I might add–and shake it repeatedly as he grins venomously at me. I grit my teeth tightly and bear it. I will not give him the pleasure of making me groan with pain on live television for the entire country to see.

Thorn all but scowls, furious that I have not succumbed to my usual, fearful trembling when around him, but there's nothing he can do about it, because Effie Trinket's preppy voice brings all eyes back to her.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she bids the people of our district. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

Panem's national anthem plays loudly over the loudspeakers.

It is over. The reaping is over. I am now officially the female tribute for District 14.

The moment the anthem ends, Thorn, the tributes from District 12, and I are all taken into custody by the Peacekeepers. None of us are handcuffed, but the four of us are marched straight through the front doors of the Justice Building. They must think the four of us are going to try running away. It's not like any of us can, though. Where would we go? Back outside, where there's even more Peacekeepers armed with guns, ready to fire the four of us down if we step one toe out of line?

Inside the building, the four of us are separated into three separate rooms. Katniss and Peeta are taken into a large room and told to wait inside while Thorn and I are allowed our one hour of allotted time to say goodbye to our loved one's. They do as they're told, and go into the room without complaint. Then Thorn and I are separated. He is taken to one room, and I to another, before being left completely alone.

The room is lavish, and most certainly the most decadent place I've ever stepped foot in, what with its thick, plush carpeting and the velvet loveseat couch and chair. I can tell they're both made from velvet. Once while visiting Saria's parents shop I had admired a dress with a collar made from this material. To keep myself levelheaded and calm, I imagine that I'm stroking that and not the material of this couch as I await my family. As much as I want to cry right now, I must wait just a little bit longer. There will be more cameras still at the train station. I cannot allow myself to be filmed with puffy red eyes and a runny nose.

"Kai," I whisper out loud. "Are you there?"

The chair in front of me topples over in reply.

"I… I'm so scared right now, Kai," I tell the empty room. "Don't leave me alone, okay? I need you right now…"

The drapes covering the window flutter a bit, and I feel a strong, warm presence wrap around my form. I breathe deep breaths, allowing Kai to calm me down. I'm going to have to depend on him more than ever from now on. He's going to have be my rock, something for me to lean on for support while I'm in the arena.

Uncle Luke is the first to come in. Without Zane. Before I can question why, he has crossed the room, brought me back up on my feet, and engulfed me in a great, loving hug.

"My little girl," he whispers, stroking one my pigtails absentmindedly. "My sweet little girl…"

"Uncle Luke," I whimper out sadly. "Why'd this happen? Why me? Why on my first year?"

"I don't know, Rose," he says sadly. "I honestly don't know."

He lets me go, and we sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Then I speak up the most pressing questions on my lips.

"Where's Zane? Why isn't he here with you?"

"He went back home."

My heart all but breaks at his words.

"He… he's not coming to say goodbye to me?" I say slowly.

"No. He'll be here soon. He just ran home to get your token."

I let out a deep breath of relief. When tributes go into the arena, they're allowed to wear one thing from their district. More often than not, tokens are some kind of jewelry. I can't imagine what Zane could be getting for me to use as a token. I've never been girly enough to wear tons of jewelry, and I don't think Uncle Luke would be too happy with Zane if he took something of Aunt Anne's. More often than not, tributes sometimes lose their tokens in the arena, and they're never seen again.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You'll see," says Uncle Luke with a chuckle. "It's something very special. Something the two of us have been meaning to give you for quite some time now."

I open my mouth to press him for more details, but then a Peacekeeper comes in, informing Uncle Luke his time is up.

I immediately hug Uncle Luke one last time.

"I love you Uncle Luke!" I tell him.

"I love you, too, Rose," says Uncle Luke, stroking my hair one last time. "Keep your eyes open when you're in the arena."

And with that, he hugs me back, kisses my forehead, and is escorted out by the Peacekeeper.

Seconds later, Saria comes bursting through the door, tears running down her rosy red cheeks. I'm shocked to see her like this. Whenever something truly upsetting happens, Saria is always the one to find the positive in the situation. She rarely ever cries. So seeing her like this is a real shock.

Upon seeing me sitting here on the loveseat sofa, Saria wails loudly and all but flings herself onto me as she weeps.

"S-Saria?" I slowly say.

"I'm sorry, Rose!" she weeps, clinging me to her tightly. "I'm so, so sorry!"

"W-what are you talking about?" I ask.

"Not volunteering!" she cries, pulling away from me and looking me in the eye. "I should have taken your place! I just froze up! I'm so sorry! You surely must hate me! I-I should have said–"

"No!" I cry out in alarm. Saria abruptly stops crying at my outburst, and stares at me. "No! Don't say that! I'm glad you didn't volunteer for me!"

"You… you can't seriously mean you're happy to be going into the Hunger Games?" she asks incredulously.

"Of course not!" I exclaim. "But I am glad that it's me and not you going in! Zane loves you! He loves you so much! He wouldn't be able to live with himself if you were to die in the arena!"

"He's going to be the same way with you!" she insists, a fresh set of tears streaming down her lovely face. "He's practically your brother, you two are so close! If you… if you don't… don't make it… he's… he's going to…"

She trails off, unable to complete that sentence.

"That's why it has to be me and not you!" I insist. "You need to promise me, Saria, that you'll be a good wife to him! That you won't let him sink into depression when I die!"

"Don't say that!" she says sharply. "Don't talk about yourself dying like that!"

"Promise me, Saria!" I beg, ignoring her interruption. "Promise me you'll take care of Zane!"

She swallows thickly, but slowly nods as the Peacekeepers signal that her three minutes with me are up.

She hugs me one last time, and kisses my cheek.

"Do your very best, okay?" she asks.

"I will, Saria. I promise," I tell her.

She smiles to me, and with a nod and a squeeze of my hand, she is gone.

My next guest, to my surprise, is Markyl. I stare at him as he sits down on the chair in front of me. What on earth is he doing here?

He very awkwardly clears his throat.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," I say back, still staring at him. "What are you doing here?"

He hesitates, contemplating his answer, before finally shrugging and meeting my gaze.

"I don't know," he admits.

For some reason, this makes me mad.

"Did Thorn put you up to this?" I demand. "Did he send you in here to threaten me? Belittle me? Should I be expecting Flo as my next guest?"

"No," he says solemnly, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's telling me the truth. "I… I came to tell you I'm sorry."

My mouth falls open.

"You're… you're sorry?" I repeat.

He nods. "Yeah, I really am sorry, Rosemary. I know that–"

"Rose," I interrupt. He gives me a quizzical look. "You can call me Rose," I clarify.

"Oh, okay," he says. "Anyway, I know that probably doesn't mean much to you, considering… I'm apologizing during the current predicament, but I hope you can forgive me for everything I've done. I want you to know, I never really liked picking on you, but being friends with Thorn… I kind of had to…"

I think this over.

"Thank you," I tell him after a few moments. "Thank you for apologizing, Markyl. I… I don't quite know for sure I can forgive you. At least, not yet. You may not have enjoyed bullying me, but you are still responsible for days when I would come home from school covered in cuts and bruises. You have no idea how worthless you, Thorn, and Flo made me feel. I would come home, and lock myself in my room for hours and cry. However… if I somehow manage to come back home… maybe we can try being friends?"

Markyl smiles.

"I'd really like that," he tells me. "So… good luck out there in the arena, okay, Rose?"

I nod. "Thank you for coming," I tell him. He shakes my hand, wishes me luck again, and then leaves quietly.

My next visitors are also a surprise. The Loxar's have come to see me.

For a long time, there is nothing but silence. They simply stare at me, and I stare back, until I eventually pat the empty bit of the loveseat next to me.

"Would you both like to sit?" I ask them.

Elle jumps, clearly startled, but nods and sits down beside me. I turn to Jellal, but he shakes his head.

"I'll stand," he says gruffly.

I nod, and silence fills the room once again.

"I really wasn't expecting either of you to come," I tell them after a while.

"We… we felt we should," says Elle nervously. "We're… we're both very sorry."

"Sorry I ended up being reaped, or sorry that neither of you ever took the time over the years to get to know me?" I ask.

Elle flinches at my harsh question, and Jellal clenches up his fists.

"Don't get me wrong," I continue. "I'm glad you both came, but I guess I want to understand your reasoning for coming."

They exchange uneasy looks.

"We… we know we haven't been fair to you, Rosemary," says Elle. "We're very sorry we haven't acted like the grandparents you deserve, it's just… you look so much like Selphie, it's painful for us to be around you…"

"If you come back, we promise to change," says Jellal abruptly. "We wanted to tell you that."

I take my time thinking this over.

"Let me ask you," I finally say. "Do you two really avoid me because I really remind both of you too much about my mother that it's too painful to be around me, or do you both of you avoid me because it's easier to hate me for being the product of the match between my mother and father? The match both of you fought to break?"

I've shocked them. That actually makes me feel somewhat better.

"You don't need to answer that," I tell Elle when she opens her mouth to reply. "I think I already know the answer. Uncle Luke and Aunt Anne told me the story about my parents a long time ago."

The three of us sit in silence until the Peacekeepers come to fetch them.

"I'll give you both a chance," I say as they move toward the door. They turn to me, clearly puzzled. "If I come back, I mean. I'll give both of you a chance to be my grandparents if I come back alive."

They both smile, happy that I've given them some form of closure, and then leave again.

I wait.

I wait.

And I wait.

Time ticks past on the clock on the wall.

Where on earth is Zane?

Just as I start to worry that I'll be escorted to the train before I get my chance to say goodbye to my cousin, the door bursts open, and Zane dashes inside, panting heavily as he clutches something rather tiny in one of his hands.

"Zane!" I cry, jumping to my feet and tackling him with a hug. Zane, though thoroughly exhausted from having to run from here to home and back again, gathers up what little strength he has left and hugs me as tight as he can.

"Listen to me, Rose," says Zane, pulling away and bending down on his knees so that he is level with me. "I don't have much time. The Peacekeepers almost didn't let me come in since I'm so late. It was only when I said I have your token that they conceded.

He uncurls his fist. He is holding a pendant of a bird of pure gold in midflight on a thin gold chain.

"A necklace?" I question.

"Not just any necklace," says Zane, unhooking it and securing it around my neck. "This was made by your dad for your mom. The bird is a turtledove. It's a symbol for both love and peace. Never forget the peace part, Rose, because no matter what anyone else in District 14 says about you being a witch, I know that that's not true. You are kind and gentle, Rose. You'd rather let bullies at school hurt you instead of fighting back and taking a chance of seriously hurting them. You, Rose, are as peaceful as this turtledove. Don't let the Capitol take that trait away from you when you're in that arena! Don't let them change you! Do you understand me?"

I nod vigorously, fingering the edges of the turtledove as I do.

"I promise I won't, Zane," I tell him. "Thank you."

"Okay, next on the agenda," he continues, grasping both of my shoulder firmly to ensure I was both looking at him directly, and listening to him fully. "Listen to what I'm telling you very, very carefully, Rose. Get a knife initially so you'll have something to defend yourself with, but make sure you grab yourself a hammer sooner rather than later!"

"What for, Zane?" I ask. "There's no way I'm ever going to have the time to be able to make a fire big enough to forge something with!"

"You will have time if you show the Gamemakers how good you are forging!" he exclaims. "That's what they want after all! A good show! Give them a good show! And that leaves me to my last two orders of business before I have to go: Kai and your mom and dad!"

"What about them?" I ask.

"When you're in the arena, you're going to need sponsors," he explains. "Your parents are a good way for you to get some. Tell them in the interviews about how they–especially your dad–died. The people in the Capitol will just love the sob story."

"Okay," I say. "What about Kai?"

"You're going to have to show him off in the interviews a little for the people in the Capitol to see."

"No!" I all but shout, pulling away from Zane slightly. "No way!"

"There's no other way, Rose!" says Zane, gripping my shoulders tightly. "You have to do it if you want to survive! The audience in the Capitol will be tripping over themselves to sponsor you if they learn you have Kai, and trust me, Rose, those sponsors will keep you alive! Plus, if you don't officially tell the Capitol about him, how will you be able to explain off whatever stuff he'll do in the arena in order to keep you safe?"

I slowly nod, realizing he's right.

"Okay," I tell him. "I'll do it."

He nods, glad that I'm following his advice, and then he looks up at the ceiling.

"Kai," he says to the ceiling of the room. "I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can hear me, listen up! You protect Rose, you hear me? You keep her safe, goddammit! If you don't, I swear to god when I die, I'll track you down and strangle you into some other past life! You hear me?"

The windows rattle and shake so hard in reply, a large crack forms.

"I think that answers that, Zane," I tell him.

We sit in silence for half a second, and then I promptly bury my face into his shirt.

"I'm scared, Zane," I admit. "I'm really scared."

"It's just hide and seek, Rose," he tells me, gently rubbing my back. "Just think of this as one big game of hide and seek!"

"But it's not just hide and seek!" I insist. "There's twenty-six of us, Zane, and only one comes out!"

"That's right," he says, tears starting to gather in his eyes. "And it's going to be you, Rose! It's going to be you! You're stronger than the rest of them, Rose! You are! You're the strongest person I know!"

At that moment, the Peacekeepers come inside.

"Time!" one of them grunts, holding open the door so Zane can leave.

"Please!" Zane begs, his eyes shining with his unshed tears. "Give me another minute!"

"We've already given you an extra two," says the other. "Get moving!"

They grab Zane roughly, and force him to stand, but I seize his hand and squeezed it tightly.

"I love you, Zane!" I all but scream. "You're the best cousin in the whole world!"

"I love you, too, Rosie!" he shouts back as the Peacekeepers force apart our hands. "You stay safe! Remember, Rose, you're not alone!"

And with that, the Peacekeepers all but drag him out and slam the door shut, and I'm left alone again.

Two minutes later, I'm collected to leave with Thorn and the District 12 tributes, and escorted into a car. The ride between the Justice Building and the district train station takes no time at all. I've never been inside a car before. It's too expensive for Uncle Luke to afford this kind of transportation, and I have barely any time to even think how the only reason I'm even in one right now is because I'm being shipped off to die when we pull up in front of the train station.

It's a good thing I hadn't let myself cry. The station is jam packed with district reporters flashing their cameras at not only my face, but at Thorn's, Katniss's, and Peeta's as well. It takes a lot of willpower and gentle coaxing from Kai to keep my face calm and relaxed as I follow Effie Trinket to the train. I catch a glimpse of Thorn, Katniss, Peeta, and myself on the large television screen on the nearby wall that's airing our arrival here live. To my great relief, I appear calm. A little pale maybe, but still calm. Thorn is smirking to everyone he sees, and every so often glancing at me pointedly. But the tributes from District 12's expressions are what really grab my attention.

Katniss Everdeen is truly amazing. She is able to appear completely emotionless as we pass through the crowd. She almost seems bored with all the commotion. She is doing a much better job than me at not seeming scared. Peeta Mellark, on the other hand, definitely seems scared. His eyes are slightly red from crying, and he keeps biting his lower lip nervously. This isn't just something he's doing for the camera in order to be perceived as weak. This is a real emotion.

It's not quite an uncommon strategy for tributes to do this: appear weak and frightened in order to convince their fellow tributes that they're not really all that big of a competition. The last tribute that did this and won happened the year I was born, during the Sixty-Second Hunger Games. Her name was Johanna Mason, from District 7, and she made herself seem like such a weak, sniffling coward, she was mainly ignored by nearly all the other tributes until they were down to the final handful of contestants, where she finally revealed herself to be quite vicious with an axe. It was a clever plan, but I can tell that's not the reason why Peeta's acting like this.

He's truly worried, I can tell, but not for himself. It seems he's worried about me, and about Katniss. He keeps shooting her and me quick, barely noticeable glances. Katniss doesn't notice, but I do. I'm used to people here in District 14 making quick glances like that whenever I'm around. I wonder why he's so worried about Katniss and me. Me? I'm a stranger to him. I've never met him before in my life. Maybe it's just because I'm a twelve. Katniss is another story. For all I know, the two of them are friends back in District 12. Maybe even lovers. The more I contemplate this, the more intrigued I become by this mystery. I'll definitely be keeping one eye open on this curious development.

We all have to stand in the doorway of the train–which seems almost like a large, sleek bullet made of silver–for several minutes so the reporters cameras can take our pictures and broadcast us all live across the country before we're allowed to board. Finally, the doors are closed, and we're left alone in peace and quiet. The train begins to move at once.

The speed initially makes me stumble about. I've never been on a train before. District citizens across Panem are forbidden to travel, the only exceptions being for the Hunger Games and officially sanctioned business. For District 14, that's mainly transporting the glass we manufacture. This, however, isn't an average glass transport train. It's one of the high-class, high-speed Capitol trains that can reach over two hundred and fifty miles per hour. We will arrive in the Capitol early tomorrow morning.

I've learned in school that the Capitol is deep in a region that–back when this continent was still known as North America–was known as the Rockies. District 12–which is actually right above District 14–is in an area known, at one point, as the Appalachia. They specialize in coal mining. District 14, as glassmakers, need to be right on the dunes of the nearby ocean. Glass is made from firing up sand, and there's plenty of sand by the sea, not that we're allowed to see it. The district fence keeps up from even visiting the ever-continuous blue waters.

Everything always seems to come back to glass in school. Aside from required readings and basic mathematics, nearly all of our lessons are about making glass, as it will help prepare us kids for our future jobs up in the production factory. We also get once-a-week lectures on the history of Panem. Everyone knows, however, that those lessons have all been tampered with. Our teachers aren't allowed to teach us anything that hasn't had the Capitol's stamp of approval. So if there is anything more than what they tell us about what happened during the rebellion seventy-four years ago, I will never know about it, because the Capitol has forbidden me from learning the truth.

As the train continues to gain speed, my balance grows more and more unsteady. So unsteady, I have to lean on the wall for support. A hand suddenly darts out; wrapping it's way around my shoulders to help me stand. I follow the arm to its connecting body and see that it's Peeta Mellark who is helping me.

"You all right?" he asks with a kind smile.

"Y-yes," I say, blushing a bit from needing his assistance. "T-thank you."

Suddenly, Thorn starts smirking.

"What, are you planning on casting a love spell on him, witch?" he asks with a smirk.

I turn beet red with embarrassment, and quickly push away from Peeta. He and Katniss eye me curiously, but I avoid their gazes. I can't bear to see their expressions.

"Come along, all of you!" Effie Trinket chirps. "I'll show you all to your rooms!"

As the four of us follow her through the hallways of the train, I take the opportunity to look around. The tribute train is fancy, fancier than even the room where I said my goodbyes to everyone back in the Justice Building. We walk upon soft red carpeting and along finely crafted wood-paneled walls. A series of crystal chandeliers are above us, lighting the way. I can't help but look about with an awestruck expression. I've never seen wealth of this caliber before.

Effie Trinket first escorts Katniss and Peeta back to their rooms–which are actually side-by-side to one another–before showing Thorn and me our own rooms, which are also side-by-side, and directly across from Katniss and Peeta. Thorn goes into his room without pause, but when Effie Trinket opens the door to my own chambers, I can't help but gasp with amazement.

The room is split up into three parts: a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom. In the bedroom, there's a huge flat screen television mounted upon the right wall, with black leather couches in front of it. To the right of me is a handsome wooden dresser, and directly in front of me is the biggest bed I've ever laid eyes upon, and a nightstand right beside it. The bed has a nicely crafted wooden headboard, pure silk sheets, and a thick red fluffy comforter accompanied by matching red pillows stuffed with goose feathers to make them both soft and fluffy. Through the open door that leads to my personal private bathroom, I can see a nice big shower with frosted glass doors, and a sink and toilet, both made entirely out of marble.

"Wow," I whisper in awe.

"You like?" Effie Trinket asks. "President Snow always makes sure his tributes have only the finest accommodations."

I swallow back a particularly nasty retort about how fitting it is to want us–the tributes–to be spoiled and pampered before we're all dead, and instead say, quite honestly, "This room is just incredible."

She grins to me, and then points to the dresser.

"There are plenty of clothes for you to wear in there," she tells me. "Feel free to wear and do anything you wish. I'll return in an hour to escort you to supper."

And with that, she gives me a gentle nudge inside, and the door shuts automatically behind me.

For a few moments, I just stand there, not quite sure what to do. This is all very nice, but I'm not entirely sure if I can fully enjoy it. The only reason I'm even here is because I'm going to die. I hesitate and think of what to do before finally settling to sit down on the edge of the bed.

It's soft. Softer than I had imagined. It almost feels like I'm sitting on a big, fluffy cloud. Loving the feeling of the silk sheets beneath me, I crawl further up into the comfy bed, and lay down on my back so I can stare up at the ceiling.

I want to cry. I really want to cry. Now that I'm alone, I should be allowed to cry, but I can't. I mustn't. If I cry now, my face will end up being red and puffy at dinner. Everyone will see. Thorn. Katniss. Peeta. Effie Trinket. And most importantly Haymitch Abernathy. If I cry now, Haymitch–my mentor–will see, and label me a weakling. Zane told me to make sure I get myself sponsors. The only way to get sponsors is through my mentor, and if he thinks I'm weak, there's no way he will help me once I'm in the arena.

I'll cry later. After dinner. Once I'm sure everyone else is asleep.

I need to do something. Something to get my mind off of my want to cry. I'm not quite sure if I'm allowed to leave these quarters until dinnertime, so just to be safe, I'll stay in here. Doing what exactly? For starters, having a conversation with Kai.

"Kai?" I say out loud to the ceiling of my room. "Are you there?"

One of the pillows next to me rises off the bed, and hovers in the air for a few moments before dropping back down.

"I can't believe we're here, Kai," I tell my empty room. "I really can't believe that we're here. On this train. On our way to the Capitol."

Kai doesn't make anything in the room move or fly around, so I continue.

"I was one slip. One slip in thousands. Zane, Uncle Luke, and Saria all told me not to worry. That I had nothing to fear. That someone with their name in twenty times or more would be the one going. But they were all wrong! I got picked anyway."

The overhead lights on the ceiling flicker a bit for a few seconds. I know that's Kai doing that, and I look over at them.

"Can you believe this, Kai?" I ask the lights. "That we're here, right now? On our way to the Capitol? Going into the Hunger Games?"

The lights flicker again, but only two times. It's our system for him answering 'yes or no' questions. If he does something once, he's saying yes, but if he does something twice, he's saying no. Since he made the lights flicker twice, he's telling me he can't believe that we're here, either.

"I'm glad you're here, Kai," I tell my invisible friend. "I really am. I can't imagine being here without you."

Kai makes a light breeze around my face, tousling the ends of my pigtails. I smile, but I don't say anything else. I'm done with talking for now.

Instead, I begin to play with my necklace. I hadn't really looked at it all that closely when Zane put it on me. I'd been more focused on saying goodbye to him than stopping to admire it. Now that I had a moment, I could take a nice good look at it. Like I had initially noticed when Zane had first given it to me, the pendant was of a bird–made of pure gold on a gold chain–in midflight. Like he had told me, it was a turtledove. It certainly wasn't the finest looking turtledove pendant I've ever seen–Zane himself admitted that my dad had forged this himself by hand for my mom–but it was still quite lovely.

As I finger the little bird around my neck, I begin to think about my parents. The mom and dad that I never knew, but have heard stories about my entire life. They were both quite young when I was conceived. Eighteen, to be exact. I know from Uncle Luke and Aunt Anne that my dad–Clyde Caprice–had been absolutely ecstatic when my mom told him she was pregnant with me. He had wanted to marry her right away, but my mom–Selphie Loxar–was betrothed to another man. I'm not quite sure who it was. I never bothered to ask about him.

Before they could marry, my mom had to break her engagement to her promised one. From there, everything became one big mess. Based on what Uncle Luke and Aunt Anne told me, my mom's fiancée had been very understanding when she told him she was pregnant, and was willing to end their marriage contract, but both his parents and the Loxar's had been furious. The Loxar's were angry because my mom had tarnished not only their good name, but lost a chance at expanding their shoemaking business–whoever her fiancée was, he must have had something to do with leather or cloth in order to be of any use to their business–and her fiancée's parents were mad because they not only lost the huge dowry my mom had, but that their son had been very close to marrying a tramp. The Loxar's fought long and hard in order to keep my mom's contract with that boy, but in the end, there was nothing they could do.

In every betrothal contract in District 14, there is a very particular clause that allows bridal contracts to be immediately terminated: you either are convicted of a crime, or you have cheated on your betrothed. My mom had done the latter of the two.

My mom's contract with her first fiancée ended, and my dad immediately took his place. They would have gotten married right then and there, Uncle Luke and Anne told me, had it not have been for another clause in betrothal contracts saying that women–should they get pregnant–cannot marry their betrotheds until the baby is born. Personally, I think that clause is stupid. It's one thing to end a bridal contract if one person is unfaithful to the other. It's another to dictate that two people very much in love can't get married unless their child is born first. It's because of that rule I was born illegitimate.

For seven months, my parents were happy as they waited to meet me. At least they were, until my dad… died. According to Uncle Luke and Aunt Anne, my mom was devastated when she received the news of his untimely death. For the next month, she was lifeless, not even excited anymore for having me, and the emotional trauma she was experiencing combined with being pregnant caused her to go into premature labor. It had been three weeks earlier than her due date, and she hadn't survived. The Loxar's hadn't wanted me, and if it hadn't been for Uncle Luke and Aunt Anne, I would have been sent to the district orphanage.

I begin to wonder vaguely how they would have reacted if they were still alive on me being sent into the Hunger Games, but I quickly push the thought away. That's too painful to imagine. Especially when… oh forget it. I can't even bring myself to complete that thought.

I sigh, and sit up and hop off the bed. Perhaps taking a shower for the first time will get my mind off of things.

Undoing the ribbons that hold up my pigtails and laying the dress Saria had made me neatly on the bed and placing my turtledove necklace down on top of it, I slide open the frosted glass door and enter the shower stall. For a moment, I just stand there, completely naked, puzzling over how to work it. Right underneath the showerhead is a large panel of buttons and knobs. The knobs are labeled with temperatures and water streams, and the buttons show various labels of soaps and shampoos. Deciding to just wing it, I turn the first knob from 'off' to around the eighty-five degrees mark. The water doesn't even come out cold at first. I'm hosed down immediately at the perfect temperature of water. For a while, I just stand there, enjoying the relaxation that this shower is bringing me, then I start to fiddle with the other knob. I turn it to the setting 'oscillate,' and instead of the water coming down in a slow, relaxing manner, it starts to spin in circles. I turn it back to its original setting–that was just too weird–and begin to examine the names on the shampoo labels. I find one labeled for the herb I'm named after, 'rosemary,' and click that. The water stops running from the showerhead for a moment, and the shampoo is instead dispensed from it, right onto my head, before continuing to jet out water again. I scrub the soap out of my hair, and step out onto the bathmat. There are no towels. Instead, a large heater seems to shoot up and out of the mat, drying me instantly. A small panel on the sink begins to light up, and I cross the bathroom to look at it. It's flashing over and over again the outline of a handprint. I press my palm against it. A current seems to spread from my fingertips all the way up to my scalp. From the mirror in front of me, I watch as my hair is detangled, parted, and dried in a manner of seconds. When it's done, my hair floats down around my shoulders in a glossy curtain.

Fully clean and dry, I head back into the bedroom and go to the dresser. I finger through clothes, trying to find something I like. I settle on a soft pink dress that seems to be my size, and I find a set of ribbons that match in one of the upper drawers. I just finish fixing my hair back up into its usual pigtails where there's a knock on the door.

"Dinnertime!" Effie Trinket calls out.

"C-coming!" I call back. Pausing only to put back on my turtledove necklace, I go to the door, and nod politely to the Capitolite woman, and to Katniss, who has also changed out of her own blue reaping dress into a dark green shirt and pants.

"Lovely choice, Rosemary!" says Effie Trinket, admiring the dress I chose. "Very, very pretty! Now, come along!"

She sets off trotting down the corridor, and Katniss and I have no choice but to follow her. As we hurry after her, I glance up at Katniss. She does not meet my gaze. She keeps an ever-present scowl on her face and keeps her eyes firmly fixed on Effie Trinket's figure. Her attitude puzzles me. Have I offended her somehow? Before I can rack my brains over what I may have done to her, Effie Trinket leads us both into the dining room, where there is a table waiting for us with beautifully crafted china. Peeta and Thorn are already there, waiting for us. Like us, they, too, have changed out of their reaping clothes.

I don't have to look at Thorn to know that he's smirking at me, undoubtedly plotting on how best to kill me in the arena. I press my lips together tightly. I can't be subjected to sitting down beside him. So, before anyone could stop me, I go and take the empty chair beside Peeta. No one comments. They don't care, I realize. As Katniss and Effie Trinket also take their seats, Thorn continues to smirk at me. I don't meet his gaze.

"Where's Haymitch?" says Effie Trinket brightly.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," says Peeta.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," says Effie Trinket. It's very obvious that she's grateful that Haymitch isn't here.

"You don't need to sugarcoat it, lady."

Everyone's faces turned at once toward Thorn, who simply smirked back at all of us in return.

"What?" he asked innocently. "We all know that his definition of nap is just passing out drunk."

Effie Trinket, Katniss, and Peeta all just stare him, shocked at his blatant attitude, but not me. I know him well enough to know that this is simply how he is: blatantly rude and arrogant.

Our dinner is brought out to us in various courses. We have thick, creamy carrot soup, fresh green salad, fat lamb chops and delicious mashed potatoes, cheeses and fruits, and a very rich chocolate cake. My mouth waters as we're presented with each new dish. As the niece of District 14's blacksmith, I've always had enough to eat–albeit once in a while exceptions whenever business had been poor–but I've never had food like this before. The smells… the tastes… the textures… they were all simply amazing. I don't hesitate to dig in, and neither do Thorn, Katniss, and Peeta.

As we all eat, Effie Trinket keeps telling us to pace ourselves.

"Save space! There's still more to come!"

I disregard her remarks, and eat as much as I can of each course, I'm stuffing myself, I know, but I can't help it. It's all so good, and I may as well put on a few extra pounds before the Games begin.

I do, however, take my time with my slice of chocolate cake. Not because I'm getting full–which I am–but so I can fully enjoy it. I've had cake before on my birthdays, as well as on Zane's and Saria's, but not a single one of them had been like this; so heavenly moist and creamy, and none of them had been chocolate either. This fancy, half-eaten brown pastry on my plate is light and fluffy, coated with an even richer and smoother icing. I'm committing every taste to memory. District 14 can't afford the luxury of chocolate, and I've never tasted it until now, and as I'm going to die in a few weeks, I'll never taste it again. I might as well enjoy it now.

I hold back a frown after I swallow the last bite. That chocolate cake was so good, so deliciously addicting, that now I want more. I glance for a moment at the empty plate in front of me. There's plenty of cake still left on the tray in the center of the table. I could probably ask for another slice, but I don't want to seem like a thick pig. I'll just have to deal with just having had one slice of that delicious chocolate cake.

Suddenly, a half-eaten slice of cake slid in front of me, and the clinking of the china plates made me jump a little in my chair. The hand connected to this plate then let it go, and slid away. My eyes followed the limb to its connecting arm, and from the arm, I followed the shoulder to the owners face, and I saw that it was Peeta. He smiled kindly to me. I, on the other hand, just stared at him, blinking a bit with confusion.

What is going on?

Why did he place his own serving of cake in front of me?

Why is he showing me his unfinished slice of this delicious chocolate cake?

These questions swam about in my mind, but before I could voice a single one, Peeta's smile became all the more charming and kind.

"You can have the rest of mine," he says. "I don't want anymore."

I then realize what it is happening. Peeta is giving it to me. I feel a bit stupid, not having realized this obvious fact, but then again, I'm so used to people avoid me, shunning me. I've never had people being kind to me, with the exception of Zane, Uncle Luke, and Saria, of course.

"Are you sure?" I ask him. "I… I don't want to just take it if you're enjoying it."

"No, go right ahead," he assures me. "I'm pretty full already."

"Okay," I say, slowly picking up my fork. "Thank you, Peeta."

This surprises him, I can tell, as his face quickly turns inquisitive.

"How do you know my name, Rosemary?" he asks.

"Just call me Rose," I tell him. "It's shorter, and I like it better, and I know your name and Katniss' the same way you know mine: from the reaping. Mayor Freeman introduced both of you before Effie drew my name."

"Oh, yeah," says Peeta, remembering the quick introduction. "Thank you for remembering."

"You're welcome," I say with a smile. Then I turn my attention back to the cake he gave me.

As I help myself to the rest of the delicious, creamy pastry, I catch a glimpse of Thorn, glaring darkly at me. Before he can say anything, though, Effie Trinket speaks up.

"At least, you four have decent manners," she says, watching me take a bit of cake with my fork. "The pair from District 12 that I escorted last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

I pause at that. I know that District 12 is just as poor as District 14, if not poorer. Whoever the pair from District 12 was last year, they must have been very poor, and starving, no doubt. I can't speak for Katniss or Peeta, but I do know that Thorn is the son of one of the Peacekeepers back in District 14, and I'm the niece of the district blacksmith. We both know how to use a knife and fork. Katniss, however, must have been very offended by that comment, because she eats the rest of her dessert with her hands, and makes a point of wiping her hands on the white, pristine tablecloth. From the corner of my eye, I see Effie Trinket's lips purse together rather tightly.

Dinner and dessert finally end, and I fight to keep the meal in my stomach. I'm not the only one feeling this way. Thorn, Katniss, and Peeta all seem a bit green, too. None of our stomachs are used to foods that this rich, but we all manage to keep the food down.

Effie Trinket then takes the four of us to another compartment so we can watch a recap of the reapings across Panem. The reapings are staggered throughout the day so people can watch all the events live, but in truth, only Capitol citizens can do this, as district citizens are required by law to attend the reapings.

One by one, the five of us watch all the other reapings, the names called, the volunteers coming forward or, more often, not. I study all the faces of the boys and girls who we will be fighting against, but I can only really remember a select few. A monstrous boy who all but lunges forward to volunteer for District 2. A red-haired girl with a face like a fox from District 5. A scared fourteen-year-old boy from District 9. A boy with a lame leg from District 10. But it's the tributes from District 11 that really grab my attention. A twelve-year-old girl like me with dark brown skin and eyes is selected, and I can see the fear in her eyes as she takes her place on the stage. No one offers to take her place, so the Capitolite escort moves on to the boys. A boy of eighteen with skin darker than the twelve-year-old girl comes forward, and for some reason, I'm reminded strongly of Zane. Not because of how he looks, but more for his size and demeanor. He goes up to the stage confidently; not because he's happy to be representing his district, but also not because he's scared, but at he shakes hands with his twelve-year-old district partner, I catch a glimpse of compassion in his eyes, and protectiveness. Just as how Zane looks when he's with me.

They show District 12 next, and to my surprise, it wasn't Katniss who was initially reaped. It was a blonde-haired, twelve-year-old girl like me named Primrose Everdeen. Katniss' last name is Everdeen. Prim is her little sister. Thorn and I watch as Katniss runs out from the roped off area of sixteen-year-old girls', shove Prim behind her, and call out–in a desperate voice–that she volunteers. Her sister starts wailing and clinging to her, refusing to let her go. A boy with dark hair from the area of eighteen-year-old boy's comes out of line and leads Prim away. Katniss mounts the stage, and Effie Trinket asks for a round of applause for Katniss, as she's the first tribute to have ever volunteered for District 12. Both the commentators and I are left speechless when we watch the citizens of District 12 give her the three-fingered salute. The same salute the people of District 14 gave me. Haymitch Abernathy then falls off the stage, yelling something about he likes Katniss' spunk. Then Effie draws Peeta's name, and, like me, he finds his courage and quietly takes his place on stage beside her. They shake hands, the anthem plays, and then the program cuts to mine and Thorn's reaping in District 14.

I watch as Effie Trinket calls out my name, and I stumble out from the roped off area of twelve-year-old girls. I'm surprised how calm I am in the film. I was terrified during the entire process, but aside from being a bit whiter than natural, I don't appear scared at all. I never knew I was such a great actress. I climb up on stage, and Effie Trinket asks for a round of applause like she did with Katniss in District 12. Again, no one claps. Instead, only my family gives me the famous salute. One of the commentators joke that even though Districts 12 and 14 are a bit backward, our outer districts symbol of goodbye are rather charming to watch. Then Thorn volunteers before Effie Trinket can even draw a name for the boys', and the commentators talk briefly on their speculations on why he might have volunteered. Not a single one of their guesses is correct. Thorn volunteered because of me, and me alone. He wants to be the one to kill me. Thorn and I shake hands. They cut back to the anthem again, and the program ends.

Effie Trinket wrinkles her nose when she sees how the state of her wig was during both reapings. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation," she says. "A lot about televised behavior."

Peeta actually laughs at this. "He was drunk," he says. "He's drunk every year."

This makes me nervous. How is he going to be a good mentor to all of us if he's always like that?

"Is he like that a lot?" I ask timidly.

"Every day," comes a new voice. I turned at once to look at Katniss, who so happened to have an ever so slight smirk on her face. In the entirety of the time I've been with her on this train, this was the first time I'd heard her speak.

"Well, he better sober up!" says Thorn abruptly. "He won't be any use to us if he's blind stinking drunk!"

As much as I don't want to admit it, I have to say that in this instance, Thorn is right. Haymitch being drunk will mean the deaths of all four of us once the Games begin. Effie Trinket also seems to be thinking along these lines.

"Yes," she hisses at Katniss and Peeta. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Right then, Haymitch comes stumbling into our compartment. "Did I miss supper?" he asks, his words slurring together. There is a definite pause, but then he abruptly vomits all over the expensive carpeting and lifelessly falls into the mess.

"So laugh away!" says Effie Trinket. She seems to dance around the pool of vomit in her high heeled, pointy shoes, and flees the room.


	3. The Capitol

**This seemed to take forever to write, but I have to say, I am quite proud of it.  
**

**And please, my dear readers, take the time and review. Pretty please? This is my third chapter and yet there's not one review. I really want to hear your feedback. Is this idea interesting? Do you all like Rosemary Caprice? Should I be doing something differently? I want to know what you all think!**

**I do not own the Hunger Games or Beyond: Two Souls. They belong exclusively to Suzanne Collins and Quantic Dream.**

* * *

**Chapter Three:****The Capitol**

For a little while, Thorn, Katniss, Peeta, and I all just stand there, trying to take in the scene before us of our mentor trying but failing to stand back up in the middle of the slick, vile contents that had all been in his stomach. Then Thorn laughs. Not comically, but nastily. He laughs so hard, tears start coming out from his eyes. Katniss, Peeta, and I all stare.

"What?" he says cruelly. "She told us to laugh! Well, I'm laughing!"

He shoots Haymitch a nasty smile, and then marches right past him to the door Effie Trinket just went through.

Against my better judgment, and Kai's insistent presence silently telling me to keep my mouth shut and let him go, I call out for him to stop.

"Thorn, wait! Aren't you going to help us with–"

"Help _him?"_ he spits, glaring at Haymitch's drunken form first before glaring at me. I struggle not to flinch, but I'm unsuccessful. "You do what you want with that drunken fool, witch, but I am _not_ going to help some half-assed idiot who obviously isn't planning to help me to kill _you_ once we're in the arena!"

And with that, he storms out.

I just stand there for a few seconds as I let his words sink in. I can feel Kai's invisible hands patting my shoulders, but I don't acknowledge him. I'm a little bit shell-shocked. I knew from the moment Thorn volunteered that he was going into the arena with every intention of sticking a knife between my eyes, but to hear him confirm it so easily was something else entirely.

"Is he always like that?"

I look at once at Katniss and Peeta. They are both looking at me curiously and expectantly.

"What?" I ask.

"Your friend," says Peeta, nodding toward the door that Thorn had exited through. "Is he always like… well… _that?"_

"He's not my friend," I answer automatically. "He's my bully. The only reason he even volunteered is so he can be the one to kill me, and yes, he's always that beastly."

My answer has shocked the two of them. I can tell. I don't want to keep talking about Thorn, though, so I clear my throat and glance pointedly at Haymitch, who is still struggling to stand.

"So," I continue, cringing at the awful smell emanating from the middle-aged man. "What are we going to do about him?"

There is a brief silence as Katniss and Peeta also ponder on what to do.

"Help him, I guess," says Katniss finally.

"Yeah," Peeta agrees, kneeling down and slinging one of Haymitch's arms up and around his shoulder. "Our mentor is our lifeline in the arena. The least we can do is be on his good side."

Katniss immediately goes and throws Haymitch's other arm over her own shoulder, but I hesitate, not sure how I can be of any help.

"What can I do?" I ask, wringing my hands.

"Get the door open," Peeta instructs. "Neither of us can get it open while we're supporting him."

I nod, and press the buttons by the door to get them to pop open. As they do, Haymitch comes slightly back to his senses.

"I tripped?" he asks. "Smells bad." Seemingly oblivious to the fact he's covered in vomit, he wipes one of his hands on his nose, smearing his face with the putrid stomach contents.

"Let's get you back to your room," says Peeta. "Clean you up a bit."

I lead the way as Katniss and Peeta act like crutches for Haymitch, half-leading, half carrying him as we go down the hall in search of his room. It was a rather slow journey. Haymitch wasn't even really walking. His feet are hanging on the ground, so they basically had to drag him.

"Should I maybe grab his feet?" I ask them.

"No, we're good," Peeta tells me. "Just get the door again when we get to his room."

I nod, and leave it at that.

We finally make it to his room, and I press the button to get the door open. I linger behind slightly as Katniss and Peeta ignore the bed and instead take Haymitch straight to the bathtub. Peeta hauls him in and turns on the shower. Haymitch doesn't really seem to notice.

"It's okay," Peeta says to Katniss and me. "I'll take it from here."

I'm relieved at that, and so is Katniss. We're both girls. Neither of us want to strip Haymitch down and bathe him. I nod gratefully to him.

"Okay," I say.

"All right," says Katniss. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you." There are plenty on the train. They cook for us, serve us, protect us… their list of things to do for us goes on and on.

Peeta shakes his head.

"No. I don't want them," he says.

"Okay," I say simply. "See you tomorrow morning, then, and thank you again for the cake."

"It was no big deal," he says kindly.

Katniss and I head back to our rooms. She doesn't say a word to me the entire time. Again, I wonder if I've offended her somehow. I don't have time to dwell on this, though. We have reached our rooms.

I turn to Katniss and nod politely.

"Well," I say awkwardly, "good night, then, Katniss."

I turn to go back into my room.

"Wait," she says suddenly. I turn back around. Katniss is looking at me directly now. There is a determined look in her eyes, as though she's just decided something. "Wait here," she tells me, and then promptly vanishes into her room.

I stare after her, puzzled. What is going on?

She returns a moment later, carrying a small white package.

"Here," she says, thrusting it into my hands.

I blink. Once. Twice. Three times. Then I finally find my voice.

"What's this?"

"Cookies," she replies. "The baker in my district gave them to me when he came to say goodbye after the reaping, but I don't want them. You can have them. You seem to have a sweet tooth."

As she turns to leave, I catch a glimpse of something on her shirt. Something gold that I hadn't noticed before now.

"I like your pin," I say.

Katniss spins back around at my words. "What?" she says.

"Your pin," I repeat. "I like it. Could you let me get a closer look at it for a second?"

She hesitates for a moment, but then unpins it from her shirt and places it in my palm. I study the gold pin carefully. It's been crafted well. Someone fashioned a small gold bird inside a gold ring, and then welded them together by the birds' wings. It's a mockingjay.

Mockingjay's are quite the intriguing little birds, and a bit of an insult to the people in the Capitol. Sometime in the middle of the rebellion, scientists in the Capitol genetically engineered animals to use as weapons. The slang term for these animals was _mutations,_ or _mutts_ for short. One type of mutt was a special kind of bird known as jabberjays. Jabberjays had the ability to memorize and repeat entire human conversations. These all male homing birds were then released into parts of Panem where the Capitol knew rebel forces were hiding. The birds would listen in on rebellion plans, and then fly back to the Capitol and repeat their words. It took people a long time to realize what was happening in the districts, that private conversations were being recorded via the jabberjays. Rebels took advantage of the copycat jabberjays, and began telling the birds lies to repeat to the Capitol. The Capitol scientists were made to look like idiots. The jabberjay engineering centers were all shut down, and the birds were all left to die off in the wild.

Except they didn't die off. Instead, the jabberjays mated with female mockingbirds, and was therefore the start of an entire new species that could mimic both bird whistles and human melodies. They couldn't enunciate words anymore, but they could still copy human vocal ranges, from a child's high-pitched scream to a man's soothing whisper. They can also recreate songs. Not just a few individual notes, either, but entire songs with multiple verses, that is if you had enough patience to sign to them and if they so happened to like your voice.

When I was really little, I so happened to find a mockingjay with a broken wing near the district fence. I took it home, and showed the poor thing to Aunt Anne. Together with her help, we nursed it back to health, and would often sing to it. It would always sing back. I was really sad when it was fully recovered and we had to release it back beyond the fence, but I never forgot how wonderful that birds' sang back our songs.

"A mockingjay pin," I say, turning the pin over in my hand. "It's pretty, and crafted very well, in my professional opinion."

"Professional opinion?" Katniss repeats.

"My uncle is District 14's blacksmith," I explain. "I've been helping him in the shop since I was seven, and he taught me how to start forging things when I was ten."

"You're from a merchant family, then," says Katniss.

I look at her quizzically. "Merchant family?"

"Someone whose family lives in the district town," she explains. "Someone who's well off. It's a District 12 term for district citizens who own stores in the district town."

"You label people based on their class status?" I ask. She nods. "Weird! No one does that in District 14! The next things you'll be saying is that you nickname places, too!"

"Well, we technically call the black market trading post the Hob, and the part of District 12 that I live in is nicknamed the Seam."

"The Hob and the Seam?" I repeat. "Your district sure does come up with weird names for stuff!"

We both laugh a bit at that.

"So," I say, handing the mockingjay pin back to her. "Is that your token for the arena?"

"Yeah," she says. "A friend of mine gave it to me."

"We match, then!" I exclaim. "My token is gold and a bird, too! See?" I take off my necklace and show it to her. She examines it carefully.

"It's nice," she says finally. "What kind of bird is it?"

"A turtledove," I tell her, putting it back on. "My cousin says it's a symbol for both love and peace."

"I see." Katniss is quiet for a moment, but then she finally nods. "It's late," she says. "We'd both better get to bed."

I nod. "Okay, see you in the morning, then."

We both go into our rooms and shut the doors.

The first thing I do once the door is shut is go back to the dresser. I peel off the dress, take out the ribbons in my hair, and begin searching through the drawers for something to wear to bed. I find a nightgown about my size, and slip it on before going to the window. In the faraway distance, I can see the lights of houses in another district. Maybe 7? Or 10? Who knows. Whoever's in those houses right now is probably celebrating their children not being on a train on its way to the Capitol right now. Like I am.

I look down at the paper packaging of cookies in my hands. Zane and Saria had bought cookies for me at the bakery stall this morning for me to enjoy after dinner tonight. I never even found out what kind they were.

Homesickness rushes through me, and I flop down on top of the bed and start to cry. Now that I'll be alone for the rest of the evening, I can finally cry. With some splashes of cold water on my face tomorrow morning, no one will ever know that I cried myself to sleep.

The tears don't stop, nor do I attempt to stop them. Between my sobs, I munch on the cookies Katniss gave me, and think of all the good things about District 14 that I'll never see again.

Uncle Luke whistling cheerfully as he works on items at the forge in the shop.

Saria calling out cheerfully when she sees me in the district market, and greeting me with a great big smile.

Zane smiling and laughing as he helps me to make things on my anvil in the shop, gently giving me pointers on where to hammer the metal.

I wonder what they'd all done tonight. Had Uncle Luke and Zane locked up the house and shop? Had Saria and her parents come to comfort them? Had the Loxar's gone to see them? Had the large feast Zane and I gone shopping for this morning been cooked and eaten with teary faces? Had it just remained on the kitchen table, untouched and forgotten? Had they all bothered to watch the recap of the reaping on the television in the living room, or could they not bear to watch me climb up on the makeshift stage in front of the Justice Building for a second time?

"I miss home, Kai," I whimper out into the darkness. "I miss District 14…"

Kai brings the silk sheets up and over my curled up form, and begins to stroke my hair with his invisible hands. I relax a little at his gentle comforting, but it's not enough to fully calm me down well enough to sleep.

"Kai," I whisper. "Can you help me calm down somehow? I'll never fall asleep if I keep crying like this…"

There is a brief pause, but then one of my shoes rose up in the air, and Kai began tapping it irregularly against the wall. For several moments, I just stared at my shoe, not understanding what Kai was doing, but then I listened to the rhythm of the taps, and I understood. Kai was tapping out the tune of Aunt Anne's lullaby.

It was one-verse tune, but everyone in District 14 knows the words. It's old. Very old. Sung by people even back during the Dark Days. Even though it's supposed famous back in my district, I've never heard anyone sing it except my aunt. Aunt Anne would always sing it to me whenever I had nightmares as a child. She would put me on her lap, gently wipe away my tears, and sing softly in my ear as she strokes my hair.

I decide to sing it in time with Kai's tapping rhythm.

_This is my wish,_

_My wish for the world:_

_That peace will find its way,_

_Fill the air with joyful noise._

_Ring the bells and raise your voice!_

_Let there be peace on earth,_

_Let there be peace on earth…_

Just like when I was little, the words definitely helped me to calm down. I kept singing them to myself in time with Kai's tapping between my choked sobs over and over until the rocking of the train lulled me into a dreamless sleep.

I wake with a start the next morning due to rapt knocking on my bedroom door.

"Up, up, up!" Effie Trinket calls out from outside my train compartment. "It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

I say nothing in reply. I just climb out of bed and go straight to the bathroom. Like I had predicted, the puffiness in my cheeks has vanished over the course of the night. The only thing red is my eyes, but if I play my cards right, I can pass that off as tiredness. Even so, I splash some ice cold water on my face just to be safe.

Instead of putting on the pink dress and ribbons I wore to dinner last night, I put on the white dressing and matching ribbons Saria made especially for me. The other dress is pretty, and I know we're almost at the Capitol where I'll be handed over to my stylist who will dictate what I'll wear for the opening ceremonies later tonight, but Saria made this for me especially. It was made in District 14. I want to wear something from my own district when I get off this train. Not some Capitol creation.

I dress and fix my hair back into its pigtails quickly and go to the dining car. Effie Trinket teeters right up to me, sipping daintily on a cup of piping hot black coffee.

"You're wearing that?" she asks shrilly. Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch, and Thorn all abruptly stop eating at her high-pitched squeal and stare at us.

"Yes," I say. "Why?"

"Why?" she repeats incredulously, as though I had asked a stupid question. "Why aren't you wearing that lovely pink dress you wore for dinner last night? Why are you wearing that simple frock?"

"I like this one," I say simply. "It was made in my district."

"We'll be in the Capitol in less than half an hour," says Effie Trinket crossly. "Do you really want to be wearing that when–"

"Don't push the witch, lady!" shouts Thorn suddenly. "She might end up summoning forth her demon to punish you!"

My cheeks flare up. Effie Trinket misses the obvious insult, but Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch all pause in the midst of their breakfast and look at him and then me. I say nothing. I just march my way past our Capitolite escort and plop down beside Katniss at the end of the table.

"Help yourself! Help yourself!" says Haymitch, waving a hand over the large platters of food across the table. There are so many delicious things. Scrambled eggs, fresh bacon and ham, heaps of fried potatoes. The aromas made my mouth water, and I quickly pile up my plate with a little bit of everything.

"Thick pig!" Thorn snorts as I reach for a freshly baked croissant. "You know there are entire families back in our district who can eat for a whole week on what's on your plate alone, witch!"

I stiffen, and slowly pull my hand away from the basket of rolls.

"Leave her alone! You're eating just as much as her!"

I look up at Katniss in surprise. I never thought she might defend me from Thorn's harsh words.

Thorn glares at her. "This is none of your business, 12!" he snaps.

Katniss gives him a cold look. "It is when we're all sitting at the same table."

Some time in the middle of this exchange, Peeta tapped me on the shoulder, and offered me a cup filled with rich brown liquid I've never seen before.

"Hot chocolate?" he asks, placing the cup in my hands.

"Hot chocolate?" I repeat rather dumbly. "What's that?"

"Just what it sounds like," Peeta chuckles. "A drink of hot chocolate. Try it. It's really good."

"Okay, thank you," I say politely. I take a slow sip. It is a hot, sweet, thick and creamy liquid, and undoubtedly the best drink I've ever had in my life. I drink it graciously like how I ate the cake last night. Committing it to memory.

Breakfast continues in silence for a while. As I eat, I look about the table cautiously, taking in everyone else. Thorn, despite his prior jab at me stuffing myself, is continuously filling up his plate as he wolfs down his food. Peeta is still eating, breaking apart bits of his roll and occasionally dipping them into his mug of hot chocolate. Katniss is the only one who has finished eating, and is shooting rather dark looks at Haymitch. Haymitch hasn't even touched his plate. Instead, he's downing an entire bottle filled with clear liquid, which he occasionally pours into a glass of red juice in order to thin it out. I'm sitting close enough to him to smell the liquid in his glass, and it most definitely has a stench of alcohol.

It takes all my willpower not to openly gawk at him. I don't understand what's going on in his head. He's our mentor, our one chance at life in the arena, and yet he doesn't seem to care. I'm starting to realize why he's the only living victor from District 12. It's not just because the tributes from 12 are underfed and do not have any fighting skills. I know from watching previous Hunger Games I've seen over the years that there have been plenty of boys and girls who were either smart or strong enough to get pretty far, but they all died sooner or later because they lacked sponsors, and why is that? Because of him. Rich citizens in the Capitol who choose to sponsor tributes–simply because they're betting on them or merely just so they can have bragging rights–aren't going to want to pay for tributes with a mentor like Haymitch.

This won't do. Zane told me to get sponsors, and there's no way I'll get sponsors if Haymitch carries on this way. I take a deep breath, and then turn to him.

"Er–Mr. Abernathy?" I begin awkwardly. "When are you going to start coaching all of us?"

"Yeah, old man!" says Thorn suddenly. "When are you going to start being useful?"

"I'm making use of the liquor! Isn't that worth something?" says Haymitch with a chuckle.

"You're supposed to give us advice," says Katniss, glaring daggers at the middle-aged man.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive," says Haymitch, and then he promptly bursts out laughing. I stare at him, bewildered. Thorn's face matches my own, and Katniss is looking at Peeta, completely stunned. To my surprise, Peeta has a hard, angry look in his eyes. I may not know Peeta all that well, but this is unexpected since he's been so nice and kind during the time that I have been here.

"That's very funny," says Peeta. It happens in a flash. He lashes out at the glass in Haymitch's hand. The glass and liquid go soaring through the air. As the blood red liquid splatters on the floor and back wall, the glass shatters on the floor into tiny little shards. "Only not to us."

There is a moment of strained silence, but then Haymitch promptly punches Peeta in the jaw, knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor. Thorn leaps up–only because he wants to be the center of attention–and tries to swing a punch at Haymitch, but he easily sidesteps out of the way and pushes Thorn aside. As he turns back around to grab his bottle of spirits, Katniss grabs her knife and jams it down into the wood of the table, right between his fingers and the bottle. He has no time to recover from this momentary shock though, as an entire mug filled with hot chocolate goes soaring toward his head. Haymitch ducks in the nick of time, and the mug explodes against the back wall, and the shards and boiling hot liquid intermingle with the liquid and glass from the other shattered cup.

I force my face into a glare. That was my hot chocolate that had been thrown at Haymitch, but I hadn't been the one to throw it. That had been Kai's doing. In all the drama, no one–not even Thorn–had seen my cup rise up on its own in the air and go flying toward Haymitch until after it had happened. So long as I pretend I had been the one to chuck the cup, no one will know that Kai exists. At least, not yet. Not until the interviews.

Haymitch doesn't say anything for a long time. Instead, he leans back in his seat and seems to study the four of us.

"Well, what's this?" says Haymitch. "Did I actually get pairs of fighters this year?"

No one replies, but Peeta does get up and scoop a handful of ice out from underneath the tureen of fruit. He starts to bring it toward the vivid red mark on his cheek, but Haymitch stops him.

"No," says Haymitch. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," says Peeta.

"He could get in serious trouble," I pipe.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say he fought, he wasn't caught, even better," says Haymitch. I blink. That's actually a really good point. He's actually giving out decent advice. He then turns to face Katniss. "We've seen that the shrimp" –he jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Thorn, who scowls at the belittling nickname– "can throw a decent punch, and princess over there" –he nods his head in my direction, and I turn bright pink at the acknowledgement– "has an overall good aim, but what about you? Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

Katniss promptly yanks the knife out of the table, takes a moment to get a decent grip on the handle, and then throws across the room in between the seam of two of the wooden panels of the back wall. It stayed there, jammed between the two boards.

"Stand over here. All four of you," says Haymitch, nodding to the center of the dining car. Thorn, Katniss, Peeta, and I all obey, and he begins to circle us. He pokes and prods each of us at times as though we're animals. He checks our muscles, examines our faces, and then finally says, "Well, you four aren't entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get a hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

None of us question this. Being beautiful alone can bring us more sponsors, and the more sponsors we have, the greater our chances will be for surviving the Hunger Games.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," says Haymitch. "But you have to do exactly what I say."

I immediately nod. This may not be the best arrangement in the world, but this deal is better than nothing. Some help is better than no help at all.

"Okay," I say.

"Fine," says Peeta.

"Better than nothing," mutters Thorn.

"So help us," Katniss says. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone–"

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resists," says Haymitch.

"But–" Katniss begins.

"The _hell _I won't!" Thorn snaps.

"No buts, and don't sass me, shrimp. Don't resist," says Haymitch. He swipes the liquor bottle off the table and exits the dining car. The door shuts automatically behind him, and the compartment goes dark. There are still lights on inside the car, but outside it's pitch black, as though it's nighttime. We must be going through the tunnels that run through the mountains into the Capitol. These mountains act as a natural shield between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It's all but impossible to enter the Capitol from the east aside from these tunnels. This unfortunate geography was a major factor in the Capitol winning the war that led to me being the female tribute from District 14 today, as rebel forces had to try scaling the mountains. They couldn't fly. That would have made them easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

Thorn, Katniss, Peeta, and I all stand quietly as the train continues to zoom along through the never-ending tunnel. After what seems like an eternity, the train begins to slow down, and bright sunlight suddenly erupts around us. We can't help ourselves. All four of us rush toward the windows to view what we've only seen before on our televisions: the Capitol, the ruling utopia of our country of Panem. None of the camera over the years have lied about its greatness. In fact, it's more powerful, more beautiful and breathtaking when viewed in person. Giant skyscrapers twinkle out rainbow hues when the sunlight touches the glass windows. Shiny metallic cars roll down the wide paved brick streets. Oddly dressed Capitolites with bizarre hairstyles and painted skins teeter about as they conduct their mindless business. All the colors in the city are unreal, as though they should belong in a perfect dream rather than here. The pinks are too bright, the greens are too deep, and the yellows actually hurt my eyes. Even so, I can't bring myself to look away. This is all mesmerizing.

We start to roll into the station, and Capitolites across the city all begin to point and cheer loudly once they realize we're a tribute train. They may believe they're welcoming us, but really, they see us as their new toys. They'll love us right now as we're prepped and made pretty by our stylists, but they'll forget all about us once we die in the arena.

Katniss and Thorn are repulsed by their cheers, and quickly step away, but I hold my ground, as does Peeta, and we both smile and wave merrily to the crowd. Peeta may be smiling and waving to them simply because he's kind, but I'm doing this because I need to. I need these twisted people of the Capitol to like me enough to sponsor me. So I smile. I wave. I act happy, even though, in reality, all I want to do is cringe away and cry.

"Already casting your spells on them, witch?" says Thorn as the train finally stops. I stiffen for a half a second, and then turn around at the same time as Peeta.

"Who knows?" he says with a shrug to Thorn and Katniss. "One of them may be rich."

I nod in agreement. Those rich people out there may just be the one's to save our lives once we're in the arena.

Effie Trinket comes trotting right up to the four of us.

"Come along!" she says brightly. "We must get the four of you to the Remake Center!"

We follow her out of the compartment, and out of the train. Reporters flash cameras and shout questions to us as we follow our escort through the crowd, and into the streets of the Capitol. Katniss and Thorn ignore them, but Peeta and I make a point of smiling politely to the cameras. Again, the more these people like us, the greater our chances will be in the arena.

We are ushered into the Remake Center–a large, dome-like marble building–as soon as we reach it, and Katniss and I are separated from Peeta and Thorn almost at once. This gives me mixed feelings. I was glad to be away from Thorn, but I didn't want Peeta to go. He'd been extremely kind to me all this time.

We are led into a room, where three Capitolites–two women and a man–are waiting for us. The man–who so happens to have bright orange hair–steps forward, and flashes both of us a dazzling, pearly white smile.

"Hello, Katniss, Rosemary, we–"

"Rose," I interrupt at once. "I like to be called Rose."

"Rose!" squeals the woman with aqua blue hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows in a high-pitched, Capitol accent. "What a beautiful name!"

"We'll be your shared prep team," the man continues. "I'm Flavius. I'll be in charge of your hair, Rose, since Cinna has instructed us to leave Katniss' intricate hairstyle alone for now."

"Cinna?" Katniss questions.

"Your stylist," says the second woman. She's rather plump, and her entire body is dyed a light shade of pea green. "You will both meet him later, once we're done cleaning both of you up. I'm Octavia, by the way. I'll be doing your nails."

"And I'm Venia," chimes the woman with the gold tattoos. "I'll be fixing up your eyebrows and getting rid of all that nasty body hair."

Having finished with the introductions and pleasantries, they pounce on us. Within less than a minute, they have Katniss and I both stripped naked and on top of metallic tables, and begin to work on us. I'm very upset when they take away Saria's dress and set it aside, but they do let me keep my turtledove necklace, and I'm very glad about that.

We are both scrubbed down with gritty foam. It removes not only the dirt on our bodies, but several layers of our skin as well. The stuff makes my skin tingle. They especially rub the stuff all along my arms and hands more than they do with Katniss.

"So much black dust!" Octavia comments. "And so many callouses! I thought we'd have to work this hard on your friend rather than you!"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You're the one from District 14, right?" she asks. I nod. "Well, District 12 is the coal mining district! Not District 14! That's glass production! Why on earth are your hands and arms like this? All black and rough?"

"I work with my uncle in his blacksmith shop," I briefly explain. "I've often helped me fill out orders on the anvils."

"Such hard work!" cries Venia, sounding almost flabbergasted. "That's a man's job!"

I don't reply at all to that. None of them would actually believe that I so happen to enjoy working with Uncle Luke and Zane in the shop.

It takes some time for them to be finally satisfied with my arms and hands. Then we're led to two tubs filled with salty water and instructed to get in and soak for a while.

"They're filled with coarse ocean salt," explains Venia. "It'll relax your muscles and help get rid of any dead skin we may have missed." She's right about the relaxation part. The moment I climb in, all my muscles uncurl, and I sigh with pleasurable content.

When we're done soaking, we're led back to the tables, and they begin to really work on us. Flavius washes my hair twice, and then trims it slightly before bringing out a strange device that gushes out hot air, which he aims at my wet head. Once it's dry, he starts to brush it. At least he's gentle about it.

Meanwhile, Octavia works on perfecting Katniss' nails, and Venia starts waxing off the air on her legs. She's gritting her teeth, willing herself not to cry out in pain.

Hours tick past this way, the three prep team members alternating on their beautifying us. They bathe Katniss and I two more times. They wax us off our body hair, pluck our eyebrows, do our nails, and above all, humiliate us unintentionally with their Capitol tongues.

"Sorry!" says Venia as I unintentionally gasp with pain from feeling her yank a strip of fabric covered in wax from my leg, ripping out the hair beneath it. "You're just so hairy!"

It's hard for me to really believe that she really is sorry, what with how she says it in her absurd Capitol accent. Must they talk like that? Always stretching out the vowels? Hissing on the letter _s?_ No wonder people in District 14 are always mocking the accent. It's so funny and easy to do.

Just how long have Katniss and I been in here? Two hours? Three hours? I'm not sure. I just want them to finish up with us already and be done with this humiliation. My entire body is sore and tingly. I'm exposed to these people, and extremely vulnerable.

Kai doesn't enjoy this either. He doesn't like that I'm being plucked like a goose for roasting by the prep team. To my great relief though, he stays silent, and only squeezes my hand on occasion to give me the strength to obey Haymitch's command to allow them to do whatever they wish without complaint.

"You two're doing very well," says Flavius. He pauses to shake his bright orange hair and reapply a fresh coat of vibrant purple lipstick on his lips. "If there's one thing we can't stand, it's whiners. Grease them down!"

Venia immediately begins rubbing down my entire body with some sort of lotion, and Octavia does the same to Katniss. I flinch slightly when it first comes in contact with my raw skin. It's cold, and stings a bit at first, but then slowly turns soothing. Then they pull both of us from the metal tables, and strip us of the thin cotton robes we've been allowed to wear off and on. We stand side-by-side, completely naked, as the three of them circle us with tweezers, searching our bodies for any hairs they may have missed. Katniss doesn't seem to have any problem with this, having her naked body examined by these people, but I am extremely self-conscious, and I quickly cross my arms over my chest, trying to hide it. Not that there's much to hide. I've only recently hit puberty, and my chest only barely fills out.

"Don't do that, little flower!" pipes Octavia when I fold my arms around my middle. "We need to see all of you!"

I hesitate, but do as she says. I really don't like what she just called me, little flower, but I grit my teeth and keep silent.

After some time, the three of them finally step back and admire their work. "Excellent! You two almost look like human beings now!" says Flavius, and Venia and Octavia both openly laugh.

I blink, unsure if whether or not I ought to feel offended. Thankfully, Katniss makes the decision for me.

"Thank you," she says politely, her lips turning upward in a fake, grateful smile. "We don't have much cause to look nice in District 12."

"Yeah," I agree, wringing my hands in front of me. "We're the same way back in District 14."

Our words instantly win them over. "Of course you don't, you poor darlings!" says Octavia, clapping her hands together in what I assume is a Capitolite's version of distress.

"But don't either of you worry," says Venia. "By the time Cinna is through with both of you, you're both going to be absolutely gorgeous!"

"We promise! You know, now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you two aren't horrible at all!" says Flavius encouragingly. "Let's call Cinna!"

They half dart, half teeter on their pointy toed shoes out of the room. I stare after them for a moment. I'm conflicted on what I ought to feel for them. Part of me wants to simply hate the three of them for what they're doing: prepping me up as though I'm a product about to be put on display in a store window, but on the other hand, I'm grateful for what they're doing. Their magic touch of beautifying me will help me get sponsors. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Sponsors will keep me alive.

Once they're gone, I quickly slip back on my robe. Katniss eyes me carefully.

"Why are you even bothering to put that on?" she asks. "Our stylist is just going to make you take it off as soon as he gets here."

"I feel safer with it on," I tell her. "Less like goods on display."

She doesn't say anything else to me after that. She just runs her hands over her intricate braided hairstyle that our prep team was ordered to leave alone, apparently deep thought. I meanwhile walk over to the chair where they neatly set aside Saria's dress. I run my fingers over the fabric. I'm truly glad at this moment that I chose to wear this here and not that frou-frou pink dress from the train. It was made my Saria's own two hands. It was basically made by a member of my family. A family member that if I don't win, I'll never get the chance to formally welcome to the family next year at her and Zane's wedding.

The door opens, and the man who I can only assume to be Cinna walks in. After seeing so many Capitolites like Effie Trinket and mine and Katniss' prep team, it's a real surprise to see one looking almost normal. I've seen so many stylists during televised interviews over the years. They are all dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered. In my personal opinion, I think all those unnatural alterations make them all look hideous, but Cinna's hair seems to be a natural shade of brown. And he's wearing a simple black shirt and pants, not some outlandish Capitol outfit. The only thing about him that outwardly shows he's a Capitolite is the metallic gold eyeliner that's been applied with a light hand, and seems to bring out the small specks of gold in his bright green eyes.

"Hello, Katniss, Rose. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says in a quiet voice. He doesn't appear to have the usual Capitol accent.

"Hello," says Katniss cautiously.

"Hi," I say somewhat shyly.

"Just give me a moment, all right?" he asks. Katniss nods, but I don't do anything for a moment. I just finger the edge of my robe, trying to find the strength to part it, and show this man my naked body.

Cinna seems to sense my apprehension. "I'll be quick," he assures me. "I'll let you put your robe back on as soon as I'm done."

I finally nod, and reluctantly remove my last shred of decency. Again, I fold my arms around my torso, hiding my chest. I half expect Cinna to be like the prep team and tell me to move them, but he says nothing. I guess he actually has enough remorse in his heart to allow me, a simple twelve-year-old girl, to try and cover myself a tiny bit while he examines my naked self.

He walks around each of our naked bodies, not touching either of us, but taking in every inch of our skins with his carefully trained eyes. I know there's nothing sexual about the way he's examining us, but still I cross my arms tighter around myself. Cinna then admires Katniss' elaborate up-do.

"Who did your hair?" Cinna asks her.

"My mother," she says.

"It's beautiful. Classic really. And in almost perfect balance with your profile. She has very clever fingers," he says. Then he turns to admire the simple white dress Saria made for me. "This dress you wore for your reaping is quite nice, Rose. It accentuated your natural pale skin and dark hair perfectly. Where did you get it?"

"My cousin's betrothed, Saria. She works in her family's tailor store. She made it for me especially," I explain.

"It's quite lovely in its own, simplistic way. She must be a very talented seamstress," he says.

"She is," I agree. "She's very talented. She's going to inherit the shop someday." I suddenly realize something. "Wait, how did you know I like to be called Rose and not Rosemary?"

"Your prep team told me when they came to fetch me."

"Oh."

I'm not quite sure exactly what I was expecting when I was finally introduced to my stylist. Someone more flamboyant, maybe? Someone surgically altered to make it seem he's younger than he actually is? Perhaps even someone who merely views me as a piece of meat that still needs to be prepared for dinner. Whatever I was expecting, it most certainly wasn't this seemingly normal Capitolite man.

"You're new, aren't you?" Katniss abruptly asks. "I don't think I've seen you before." Now that she's said it, I realize she's right. I don't think I've ever seen Cinna working as a tribute stylist in any past Hunger Games. The majority of stylists are familiar, having worked with the ever-changing crops of tributes for years on end. I'm positive that there are at least two working this year that have been around since before I was born.

"Yes, this is my first year in the Games," says Cinna.

"So they forced you to take District 12, and you consequently also ended up with District 14," I say. I'm not being rude, just making an accurate assumption. New stylists always end up with the least desirable districts.

"I asked for District 12, and I'm quite pleased that District 14 was paired off with 12 this year," he says without any further explanation. "Why don't both of you put on your robes and we'll have a chat."

I eagerly put back on my robe, glad that this naked humiliation is over for the time being. Katniss follows suit, and we both follow him out of the prep room, and through a door into a sitting room. There are two red plush couches facing each other between a low, mahogany coffee table. Three walls are empty, but the fourth is made entirely out of glass, providing a nice view of the city. Judging by the light outside, I'm assuming it must be around midday. For a moment, I just stare at the glass window. Not the city outside, but the window itself. Factory workers back in District 14 made that large sheet of glass. They were paid minimum wage to produce it, and probably even suffered minor burns from firing the sand that that glass is made from, and yet here it is, being used for nothing more than a scenic view. Not even for something more practical.

"Why don't both of you sit down?" Cinna asks, gesturing to one of the red plush couches.

Wordlessly, Katniss and I sit down, and Cinna sits down on the opposite couch across from us. The tabletop splits in half, and a second one rises up from below, containing a large tray with our lunch. It's roasted chicken and slices of oranges cooked in a thick, creamy sauce, spread out on a bed of snowy white grain. There are petite green peas and onions for side dishes, toasty warm rolls baked into flower shapes, and a honey-colored pudding awaits us as our dessert.

I fill up my plate, imagining how hard my family would have to work to try and make something remotely similar to this seemingly ordinary Capitol meal. Chickens are too pricey, but we could trade some extra sharp knives with the butcher for a reasonably sized goose. It would take an entire cutlery set for a single orange, and another set for a fresh pint of goat milk, which we'd have to use in place of cream. We'd probably have to fix up a set of a factory worker's glass cutting tools in exchange for peas from their family gardens and a small sum of money, which we'd use to pay a hunter to go beyond the fence and forage from mushrooms as substitutes for onions. It would take a long time for us to sell enough of our knives to be able to pay the baker for several loaves of freshly baked bread and a bag of their grain. At least nine, I think, and that's just at full price. If we could only sell at half price, it would have to be eighteen. I don't have any idea what the pudding might be made of, so I can't fathom the workload for it. It would probably take at least two weeks to be able to forge all the cutlery sets and knives we'd need to either trade or sell and a couple of repairs of factory worker's tools to put together the meal. Maybe four weeks if business happens to be bad, but even then, it wouldn't be a worthy substitution for this meal in front of me.

It's strange to think that until the Hunger Games begin, I'll be staying here, in the Capitol, where things like food appearing at the push of a button is a normal, everyday occurrence. What exactly are the lives like for the people here, who have never worked hard every day to put food on their tables? What do Capitolites even do in their free time aside from surgically altering their bodies and eagerly waiting for mid-summer to come so they can watch twenty-five kids across the districts be butchered for their sick entertainment?

The entire time that Katniss and I eat our lunch, Cinna's eyes remain solely fixed on the two of us. "How despicable we must seem to you two," he says.

I pause in the midst of chewing one of the chunks of orange. Do I really think Capitolites are despicable? I think their way of lining up thirteen boys and thirteen girls to fight each other to the death is wrong. I think the way they groom us before the Games begin, as eye-candy, is disgusting. I think the way they think of us as products and unintentionally berate us in conversation is extremely rude. But what do I think of them as people in general? Effie Trinket seemed nice enough when she wasn't commenting on the table manners of the District 12 tributes she escorted last year, or on my decision to wear the white dress Saria made for me this morning. Flavius, Venia, and Octavia hadn't seemed all that bad, either. A little oblivious on how Katniss and I feel in terms of modesty for our own bodies maybe, and perhaps even unintentionally berating us when they commented the two of us actually looked not bad after they were done prepping the two of us, but they certainly hadn't been cruel. They'd actually been very friendly, in their own, absurd Capitol way. And Cinna? He's been very polite so far. Respectful, even, when he saw how uncomfortable I was with letting him see my bare skin. I can't find these people as despicable as I had yesterday when I first boarded the tribute train. I realize now that I don't despise Capitolites in general. It's the way that they consider watching twenty-five kids kill each other on television to be the greatest form of entertainment there is that I don't like.

"No matter," says Cinna, as neither of us has actually responded to his statement. "So, Katniss, Rose, about your costumes for the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tributes, Thorn and Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you all in complementary costumes," says Cinna. "As you both know, it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district."

During the opening ceremonies, tributes are supposed to wear costumes that represent their districts' primary industry. District 11–for example–will wear something related to agriculture. District 4 will be fishing related. District 3 will be wearing something that represents technology. But as Katniss and I are from District's 12 and 14, we will get the worse ends of the deal.

District 12 specializes in coal mining, so Katniss and Peeta will most likely be dressed up in skimpy coal miner's outfits and hard hats with headlamps. There was, however, one year when the District 12 tributes were sent out completely naked, and covered from head to toe in thick black powder to represent the coal dust. Each year is dreadful, and the costumes do nothing to catch the crowd's attention. But they're nowhere near as bad as the costumes for District 14.

As District 14 manufactures glass, we're pretty tricky to dress up. One of three separate costume ideas is almost always used. We're either put into factory uniforms and given large pieces of uncut glass to hold, put into simplistic, shimmery white outfits, or forced to wear ridiculous outfits made entirely of shards of what look more like crystals to the Capitol crowd rather than glass. They've always been pretty bad, but nothing can top the outfits from four years ago, when the boy and girl tributes were forced to wear what appeared to be form-fitting, gel-like suits, which were completely see through to show that glass is transparent. The entire country was able to see and every detail of their naked bodies accentuated by the form-fitting, gel-like material. The District 14 female tribute actually burst into humiliated tears before the opening ceremony was even halfway finished. That was a bad year for us. During the interviews, the televised Capitol audience could only laugh at them. Needless to say, they both died very early on in the arena. I prepare myself for the worst, and judging by her tightly pressed lips, so does Katniss.

"So, I'll be in a coal miner outfit?" she asks.

"And I'll be in something white, I presume?" I ask.

We are both hoping that they won't be indecent.

"Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that coal miner thing's very overdone, and we think there's a better way to represent glass other than just dressing you in white or putting you in an outfit covered in jewels or in factory clothes. No one will remember either of you in those. And we both see it as our job to make the District 12 and District 14 tributes unforgettable," says Cinna.

_We're all going to be naked,_ I think to myself.

"So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal," says Cinna. "And instead of just using a shimmering white fabric, we're going to step it up a notch and focus on what glass can do."

_Katniss and Peeta will both be naked and covered in black soot, and Thorn and I will be wearing skin-tight, transparent suits,_ I think.

"And what do we do with coal? We burn it," says Cinna. "You're not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?" She shakes her head. He grins, and then looks at me. "Glass can be used for more things other than simply being used as a window, for example. It can also reflect. You don't happen to dislike any of the bright colors that people here in the Capitol wear, do you, Rose?" Like Katniss, I shake my head, and he grins again.

A couple hours later, Katniss and I are both dressed in what will most certainly be the most deadly–in Katniss' outfit–and most sensational–in my dress–costumes in the entire opening ceremony. Katniss is wearing a simplistic black unitard that covers her entire body from her neck to her ankles, not that anyone will be able to tell, as she's also wearing shiny black leather boots that go up to her knees. But those aren't what's going to make the people in the Capitol love her. It's the cape sewn with bits of orange, yellow, and red and the matching hairband. Cinna is going to light them on fire right before her and Peeta's chariot rolls out into the Capitol streets. In all honesty, I'm a little jealous of her costume. I work with fire all the time with Uncle Luke and Zane in the forge. I feel safe with fire. I wish I could wear it instead.

"It's not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with. You'll be perfectly safe," he says to Katniss. Katniss nods to him, but it's clear from her expression that her only coherent thought right now is her own prayer that she won't be roasted before she even reaches the chariots. "And Rose," he continues, turning to face me. "Don't forget that your dress was designed to reflect all the colors in the crowd, and will change colors as you ride past them all." I nod, and admire my dress in the mirror.

Like every other District 14 stylist, Cinna has chosen to dress me in white, but unlike other white outfits stylists have made for District 14 tributes in the past, it isn't just a white piece of fabric. The dress reaches my knees, and apparently has been sewn together with some kind of special thread from District 8, as their main industry is textiles. Right now, the dress is shimmering no differently than any past District 14 white outfit tributes have worn before, but Cinna says that right after he sets fire to Katniss and Peeta as their chariot rolls out, he will activate a special button he has in his possession to let the thread in both my dress, and whatever Thorn will be wearing, to work and the outfits to start reflecting back the colors in the Capitol crowd. I'm also presented with simple white slippers made from the same material as the dress, and a small tiara made entirely out of silver, and embedded with small shards of different colored glass.

Cinna doesn't apply too much makeup to our faces. Just a little bit of eye shadow, blush, and lipstick to highlight our facial attributes. Katniss' hair is removed from its intricate braided style and brushed thoroughly before being braided again down her back. My hair is brushed as well, and the ends are gently curled before being tied back in its usual two pigtails, giving them an extra bouncy wave as I walk. "I want the audience to recognize both of you when you're in the arena," Cinna tells us dreamily. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire, and Rosemary, the little glass princess."

And just like that, Katniss and I are both finally done. We're finally ready for the opening ceremonies.

"As soon as your district partners are ready, we'll get going," says Cinna.

"Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?" I ask tentatively.

"Of course not," he says. He points toward the hallway. "Just go down the hall. It's the second door on the right."

"Thank you," I say politely, and I head down the hall. The truth is, I don't really need to use the bathroom. I just need a quiet moment alone to talk to Kai before the opening ceremony starts.

As soon as I'm inside, I lock the door behind me, and lean back against it as I sigh. I hadn't realized until now just how much I need to speak with my invisible entity friend. I've never gone a full day without properly speaking with him.

"Kai," I breathe, knowing full well that someone out in the hall might hear me talking out loud to–what they assume–myself, and they might consider me crazy. "Are you there, Kai?"

The sink faucet turns on and off again.

I turn toward the mirror, and admire the reflection of the girl Cinna has turned me into.

"What do you think Kai?" I whisper. "Do you think I really look like a glass princess? Do you think I can get sponsors tonight thanks to Cinna?"

The toilet flushes once. Yes, he says.

"I do hope you're right," I say. "My life depends on it." I turn back to the door. "Stick close to me tonight, okay?" I quickly tell the ceiling. "I need you to support me."

Kai's invisible hands wipe a strand of my brown hair out of my eyes. I smile at his silent promise, and go back out to Katniss and Cinna to wait for Peeta and Thorn.

We don't have to wait long. Thorn and Peeta finally arrive after ten or so minutes. Peeta is wearing an identical black unitard to Katniss', and Thorn is in a white suit made from the same material as my dress. Peeta greets Katniss and I kindly when he sees us, but Thorn merely grunts and smirks at us, or more accurately at me, and me alone. I'm thankfully am spared the awkwardness of trying not to meet his gaze, because at that moment, his and Peeta's stylist, Portia, and their prep team come hurrying into the room after them, completely giddy with eager excitement over how great Thorn, Katniss, Peeta, and I are going to look at the opening ceremonies. Everyone aside from Cinna, that is. He suddenly seems to be quite weary, and just accepts his congratulations quietly.

Thorn, Katniss, Peeta, and I are led back downstairs to the bottom most level of the Remake Center, which is essentially just one big stable. The opening ceremonies will be starting any minute now. All the pairs of tributes are being herded by their stylists into large chariots, each one pulled by teams of four horses. Katniss and Peeta's horses are coal black, and Thorns' and mine are as white as freshly fallen snow. These horses have been trained to pull our chariots without needing to have their reins guided. Cinna and Portia first direct Katniss and Peeta to their chariot, and adjust their body positions and the drapes of their capes before taking Thorn and me to our chariot at the very end of the lineup and doing the same to us.

"Remember, head high," Cinna tells me. "Smile. They're going to love you!" He and Portia then move away to speak in private.

As soon as they're gone, Thorn turns and gives me a wicked grin. "You know, your stylist screwed up your costume," he hisses. "Witches are generally supposed to be wearing black."

I say nothing. I just finger the edges of my turtledove pendant and look straight ahead at Katniss' and Peetas' backs in the chariot in front of us. This is the first time I've actually been alone with Thorn since I was in the market in District 14 yesterday morning, and he's not about to let an opportunity to taunt me slip away.

"You know full well why I volunteered, witch." He leans in close to my ear. "I don't care if I die in these games, but know that I don't intend to die until I get you first! I will be the one to kill you, witch," he hisses. "And believe me when I say I'm going to enjoy doing it."

I'm spared the mortification of having to answer that horrifying statement by the opening music starting to play. It's impossible to not to hear it. The music is being blasted all across the entire Capitol. The gigantic doors swing open to reveal the crowd-lined streets. It will take us about twenty minutes riding in the chariots to reach the City Circle. It is there that President Snow will officially welcome and congratulate the twenty-six of us on being this year's tributes. Once he's done, they will play Panem's national anthem, _Horn of Plenty,_ and then finally escort all of us into the Training Center, which is where we will all live until the Games begin.

This is a very important moment, and therefore the reason why Thorn just told me what he did. He wants me to be emotional, to start crying as our chariot pulls out into the street. He wants the country to see me as a weak twelve-year-old girl. Well, I won't do that. I will not let him ruin my chances for sponsors tonight. This isn't District 14 where I can simply run home and cry. This is the Hunger Games. Crying means you're weak. That's not what I'm going to show the people here in the Capitol. They are going to me, Rosemary Caprice, The Glass Princess, and princess' are smiling and cheerful girls.

The first chariot to go out into the streets of the Capitol is the District 1 chariot, pulled by a team of four snow-white horses. District 1 makes luxury items for the people in the Capitol, so the boy and girl in the chariot have both been spray painted to make it seem as though they have silver skin, and they're wearing lovely fuchsia colored tunics with glittering jewels. The crowd roars loudly when they see them. They always love District 1.

Roman gladiators from District 2–the weaponry district–follow after them in their own chariot. One by one, every chariot slowly rolls out into the streets. My chariot is now close enough to the door that I can catch glimpses of the overcast evening sky, twinkling not with stars, but with the lights from the Capitol buildings. As the District 11 chariot goes through the door, Cinna and Portia both run up to Katniss and Peeta with lighted torches, and set their capes on fire. They then dart away, but Cinna pauses to shout something to them before following Portia to approach Thorn and me as Katniss and Peeta's chariot rolls outside.

I immediately hear an eruption of cheers from the crowd when they take in Katniss and Peeta. I gulp nervously. Cinna claims that he has made me a costume that will be just as great, but will it be enough to draw enough of the crowd's attention away from them to me?

Cinna seems to sense my slight bit of nervousness. "Don't worry," he says. "You will look like a little princess to them. There's nothing they like more than royalty." As our chariot starts rolling toward the door, he pulls a small remote out of his pocket, as does Portia. They click something on both of them, and my dress and Thorn's suit both suddenly start to glow radiantly. Portia waves and Cinna gives us a thumb up, and that's the last thing I see before Thorn and I enter the city.

The crowd goes wild as our outfits immediately begin reflecting the colors of the closets members of the crowd, yellow and purple, but then they turn pink and red as we roll past other people. People are still screaming "District 12!" for Katniss and Peeta, but there are now also quite a large percent of the Capitol population cheering "District 14!" as well. Instead of watching the tributes in the four chariots up ahead of us, every head in the Capitol has turned to the back of the parade, watching the tributes form District's 12 and 14. I'm stunned at their reaction. Can we really be that amazing? I glance at a large television screen up ahead for confirmation. I catch a glimpse of Katniss and Peeta first. The dark sky above all of us allows the firelight to illuminate their faces, and their fiery capes are leaving a trail of flame ghosting behind them. I barely have time to think how great they both look when the screens change to a shot of Thorn and me. We are constantly changing colors, reflecting off the colors of the people in the crowd. We almost seem to be ever changing rainbows. My tiara alone is twinkling as it covers my face in reflected colored lights from its embedded colored glass shards. Cinna was right not to put too much make up on me. I have just enough natural beauty to be turned from the shy, quiet twelve-year-old female tribute from District 14, to the beautiful, glass princess of the Capitol.

_Remember, head high. Smile. They're going to love you! Don't worry. You will look like a little princess to them. There's nothing they like more than royalty._ Cinna's words echo about in my head. My face brightens up into a cheerful smile, and I wave kindly to the crowd just as how a princess waves to her subjects. The crowd goes wild, and nearly all of them wave back as they cheer wildly. This gives me a great boost of confidence. The Capitolites love me. They are not only screaming Katniss and Peeta by their first names now, but Thorn's and mine as well, as they have all bothered to actually open up their programs and find out our names.

The blaring loud music, the wild cheering, and the thrill of this moment runs through me, and I can't help but smile even more. Cinna was right. They all love me. He has given me a great advantage. Sponsors all across the Capitol will now for sure be keeping one careful eye open on the twelve-year-old girl from District 14. Rosemary Caprice. The Glass Princess.

Someone in the crowd throws Katniss and me red roses. We both catch them. I'm not sure what Katniss does, I don't look, but I wave back in the general direction it came from as I delicately sniff the rose, thinking that it's ironic that none of them even know yet that I prefer to be called Rose instead of Rosemary, and that they just threw me a red rose. A red rose for Rose. A hundred hands try to take credit for the flower and wave back as another hundred hands try to pretend grab a kiss Katniss blew to them.

"Katniss! Rosemary! Katniss! Rosemary!" I hear people scream from both sides of the parade. Everyone seems to want her kisses and my royal waves.

The line of chariots finally reaches the City Circle, and fill into the large loop. We are in front of President Snow's mansion, awaiting his grand speech. As the horses pulling my chariot finally come to a stop, the national anthem dies away.

President Snow is a very small, thin man with hair as white as his name. He stands up on a balcony in his mansion high above to conduct his official welcome to us tributes.

"Welcome," he says in a surprisingly strong voice. "Welcome. Tributes, we welcome you, and we salute your courage and your sacrifice. And we wish you all a Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

As soon as he's done, the national anthem plays again, and the cameras do make an effort to try and take quick cuts of each pair of tributes, but they are unable to resist holding on to Katniss and Peeta's chariot as well as Thorn's and mine as we all parade around the City Circle one last time before vanishing into the Training Center.

As soon as the doors shut, Thorn, Katniss, Peeta, and I are all immediately surrounded by our prep teams, who I can't even fully understand because they're all speaking so fast and excitedly. Unable to focus on them, I let my eyes wander about. A good number of tributes are shooting the four of us dirty looks. They must really hate us for outshining them. One face in particular sticks out amongst all of them. The boy who volunteered in District 2. It takes me a few moments to recall his name. Cato. It's easy to see the obvious hostility in his eyes, and I look away, but Thorn doesn't. He seems to size Cato up, taking in his size and very obvious muscles. Then, to my complete shock, he smirks at him. Cato is as surprised as I am. I watch him, half expecting him to start fuming at the fact that a thirteen-year-old boy is challenging him, but instead he smirks back, seemingly intrigued at Thorn's guts. I gulp. A dangerous alliance has just been formed, and they haven't even spoken yet. This is bad. Very bad. As Cinna and Portia come forward, clicking the buttons on their remotes to turn off the magical effect of my dress and Thorn's suit and extinguishing the flames on Katniss's and Peeta's capes, I awkwardly turn to Thorn and clear my throat. I'll let him belittle me if it means breaking whatever strategy Thorn is already mentally establishing with Cato.

"S-so," I say, my voice slightly higher than usual. "That went quite well, don't you think?"

Thorn growls, and breaks eye contact with Cato to shoot me an ice-cold glare. "What?" he snaps.

"The parade," I go on. "They all seemed to really like us."

I know immediately that I have somehow said the wrong thing, as Thorn's already dark eyes turn even darker at my words.

"No, witch," he dangerously whispers. "They really liked _you."_

And he hops out of the chariot without another word.

It takes me a moment to collect myself as realization as to what Thorn is doing dawns on me. He openly admitted that he intends to be the one to slit my throat, and he'll do anything to make sure that happens, even if that means allying with Cato, who, I have a sinking feeling, could very well be the most dangerous tribute in this year's Hunger Games.


End file.
